A Day In The Life
by Cerulean Pen
Summary: Summer is a wondrous and magical time for those yet to discover its power. Summer in Gravity Falls is… well, strange, especially with these guys. A collection of vignettes about their daily lives. Story Seventeen: Awaken- How can you repair a horrible mistake? How can you bring back the ones you love? ...and why is a shovel and spell involved?
1. Chapter 1: Midnight

A Day In The Life

Summary: Summer is a wondrous and magical time for those yet to discover its power. Summer in Gravity Falls is… well, strange, especially with these guys. A collection of vignettes about their daily lives.

English Mystery/Family Rated: T Chapters: Words:

Story One:

Midnight

**a/n: **You guys rock my socks off. Thanks for reviewing my story and welcoming me so warmly into the archive. This here is a collection of short stories revolving around the "Gravity Falls" crew. They'll vary on length and genre, so don't expect an identical anecdote every time. But, I do hope you enjoy. To kick things off, a melodramatic yarn involving Dipper and Wendy. Enjoy!

_Sniff…_

The redhead lowered the magazine hesitantly, glancing around the Mystery Shack's showcase arena in search of the muted, almost inaudible, sound. Wendy Jackson quickly removed her boots from the countertop, silently praying that Stan hadn't decided to check on her. She had been bestowed with the task of ensuring no midnight tourists were loitering or had resolved they wanted a dozen snapshots of a papier-mâché tentacle. Because of the gentle storm outside, Wendy had been denied the option of escaping to her rooftop oasis. Oh, well. A latte and magazine was relaxing enough.

Curiosity dissipating, Wendy glimpsed at the clock. Eleven-thirty-five. Augh, there were still twenty-five minutes left of excruciating boredom before her dilapidated Volkswagen braved the gaping maw of midnight. If it hadn't been so late, she might have invited the twins to engage in some after hour mischief. Unfortunately, Mabel was staying at a friend's house that night, and Dipper had claimed he was "going eyeball hunting".

Inadvertently, Wendy pictured last week's events. Man, what a night. She had really bonded with Dipper, in spite of learning he was a year younger than initially declared. He had been really brave… yeah, a guy in a lamb costume was really brave. The image of him clad in a costume she herself had worn at the tender age of two made her laugh so hard she snorted. God, if it weren't for those cute eyes, she would have recounted the story, complete with shadow puppets and sound effects.

_Sniff…_

The noise, albeit slightly louder, was emitted from the floor above her, and Wendy's attention was directed to it again. With nothing much to do, she determined to discover the source of the odd _sniff. _The teenager slid her thin legs over the counter, hopping to the floor and advancing towards the staircase. Even at its base, she could perceive Stan's thunderous snores; they appeared to shake the boards beneath her feet.

Man, what a gross guy. Sure, he managed to throw her a nickel every now and then, but a shower, clean shave, and mile or two on the treadmill would have definitely improved his rugged image. Wendy remembered to skip the creaky step, which would ricochet like a strident gunshot and wake everybody in a five mile radius. She paused at the landing, straining to discern the _sniff._

Yep, there it was. With a slight nod to no one, Wendy surveyed the three closed doors and unconsciously twirled a tress of crimson hair around her finger. One contained an eardrum-shattering Stan, the other led to the bathroom, and the last concealed another stairwell. Ah, what the heck. She might as well see the so-called dungeon Stan had issued to his great-niece and nephew.

Wendy opened the door cautiously, surprised to discover a thin strip of luminescence visible between the floor and door. She had supposed Dipper would give up on the on-going pursuit and locate Mabel, or come shuffling home. Maybe he came in through the back. Oh, well. _Sniff. _Ah-hah! There it was. In a moment of disrespect for his privacy, she turned the knob, squinting as the lantern's radiance reached her eyes. "Hey dork, what's going on?"

The boy was wound around a pillow, his back arched and against Wendy; every few seconds, he would emit a muffled sob. Her heart skipped a beat at the shocking sight, and the hand not dedicated to yanking her curl clutched at the base of her collar. What could have happened to make him cry? This wasn't the Dipper Pines that had saved her life in a convenience store. This was a vulnerable, frightened shadow of him. One that all of them had.

Wendy was almost afraid to approach him: it seemed like anything could shatter him. If her vocal cords weren't twining around one another like wild vines, she might have said something, but she was at a total loss. The redhead tentatively laid a hand between his shoulder blades, silently cursing at herself for so brashly invading his privacy. "Kid…? Are you okay?"

The sounds tapered off into a sniffle, much like the one Wendy had overheard downstairs. Slowly, as if the action pained him greatly, Dipper removed the pillow from his face. The case was saturated with tears and smudged with a crimson substance Wendy immediately recognized as blood. The first cold clutches of panic seized her heart, and she had the fleeting notion to retreat and wake somebody better suited for the job of confronting him. One look into his swollen, wounded eyes forced Wendy to the edge of the mattress. "My God, kid. What happened to you?"

Dipper turned his head away from her, too humiliated for her to see the sniveling, feeble… _child _he had been reduced to. Another surge of blood gushed through his nostrils, the salty, metallic liquid dribbling to the pillow clutched in his hands. He momentarily feared he would pass out and ultimately demolish his relationship with her, but he managed to hold on.

_Is he really not gonna tell me? Oh man, what am I gonna do? He's bleedin' out and won't tell me what happened. _"Come on kid, just tell what happened. I won't tell Mabel or Stan, I wanna help you." The redhead fished around in her jean's pocket and withdrew a crumpled, but clean, tissue. "Here, use this for your- - oh, jeez, it's bleeding bad." Swallowing sickly at the sight, Wendy used the tissue to pinch his nostrils shut and guided his head forward. "Man, you musta fallen down really hard to get it this bad. If you had come in the front, I could- -"

"I _didn't _fall down," Dipper interrupted spitefully, pushing Wendy's arm away. A sudden flash of anger pulsed through him at her assumption that he had just _fallen down_, like he was a clumsy little kid. Below the thin layer of rage though, chest-tightening guilt threatened to surface. He was scaring her and acting like a brat as well. But if she learned what had occurred… she would never treat him like an equal.

Wendy cupped his chin with much more intensity than before, their eyes meeting and communicating a silent pact ensuring that Wendy _would _tear an answer out of him sooner or later. "Well, if you didn't fall down, that must've been some bus that hit ya. Now, I'm not gonna sit here if you won't tell me what went on today. I've got a warm bed, chocolate, and a new CD waiting for me at home. Feel up to talking?"

She could lure an answer out of anyone; it was a skill he had never seen before. If he wasn't concerned about the current condition of his internal organs and pride, Dipper might have investigated her talent, perhaps in the "telekinesis" section of the book. Fine. He twisted the pillow anxiously, gaze fixated solely on the floor below. "I was in the forest, searching, uh, hunting for… never mind. I ended up in a clearing outside of town and had to wait behind a parked car, because something was chasing me. I had to chase it back into the forest, but… well, we ended up scratching the paint job."

He trailed off uncertainly, and Wendy, who had been trying to sort out the vague points of his tale, motioned lightly for him to continue. "The car wasn't destroyed, but it looked terrible. The person it belonged to came out of the forest after I chased the thing off, and he was… he was really angry. He didn't believe me when I said what happened. And he…" Shame and immense light-headedness compelled him to stop the story where things got crazy.

Wendy, however, had heard quite enough. "The guy who owned the car beat you up? My God, who the hell beats up a little kid for an accident? I swear, I swear to God, if I ever find out who did it, I'll tear out their throat and…" She rose to her feet, fists clenched in ire and cheeks progressively turning a shade of red that matched her hair perfectly. Dipper couldn't help but stare up at her in awe as she allowed the curses and threats to fly.

Her father was the strongest man in Gravity Falls. Oh, when she uncovered who beat this poor kid, she could convince him to go after the offender with his axe raised in fury. Wendy inhaled deeply, returning to the bed and reaching out to grip his shoulder. "Okay. I'm gonna ask you a very serious question. Who did this to you?"

This was the query he had been avoiding. Not only was it an immense embarrassment to him, it would break Wendy's heart. Dipper turned his gaze to the floor, unable to face her and say it. "It was… Robbie," he muttered, voice hardening as he spoke the name, tone laced with insipid venom.

Wendy felt like she had been punched in the stomach. Robbie, the Robbie she had been friends with for six years, had knocked around Dipper like a punching bag. Because of a stupid car. It was a piece of crap anyway; peeling away the bilious paint probably would have improved it. Robbie had given him a hard time at the convenience store, even after Dipper… _danced _the ghosts away.

"You're going to freak out, aren't you?"

"This isn't valuable, is it?" Wendy asked calmly, holding up a lantern that had a cracked pane. Before Dipper could answer, she hurled the small mechanism at the wall: it shattered on impact. He knew she was agile and was capable of several athletic feats, but her strength was… freaky.

There was a few moments of tentative silence, both praying that Stan would sleep through the crash. He had once napped through a major dance party, but nobody knew what would rose him from a snore-filled sleep. Fortunately, no door opened, and Wendy was able to relax slightly. The matter at hand presented itself to her once more, her emotions flaring up again.

"Robbie! Of all people, Robbie! I shoulda known he was a bad guy… well, I did know, but, God, I just went with it. Man, he is gonna regret even looking at you the wrong way," Wendy growled, already formulating plans to avenge Dipper and tear out Robbie's still-beating heart. "My Dad's axe should be sharpened- -"

"Wendy?"

"I know how to cover up a murder- -"

"Wendy!"

She swiveled back around to face Dipper, temper declining at the sight of his strained expression. He was tired, in his body and mind, not to mention tired of discussing the subject. Okay, so maybe Wendy could execute serious revenge, but all he wanted was to forget today, go to sleep and wake up tomorrow pretending it never happened. "I don't need you to fight my battles. Okay? Thanks for offering, but I just don't want to face him again."

She could respect that, despite the fact she had the primal urge for blood to spill. Though she would _never _say it to his face, Wendy was aware Robbie had the advantage in a fight and would definitely win. It must have been a mortifying incident. Getting beaten down by someone bigger and stronger, all because of an accident. "Okay. I get it. Do ya think you'd let me erase him from my contacts?"

An uneasy smile was forming on her full lips. For the first time in hours, Dipper managed a grin, even though it made the muscles in his cheeks ache. Wendy removed her cell phone, scrolled through her contacts, and located Robbie's number and address. "And… delete! Ha! Somewhere in Gravity Falls, a certain as- I mean, jerk has fallen off the face of the Earth."

"Thanks, Wendy," he said gratefully, pushing himself off of the bed. "I should probably wash this blood off…" Apparently, he lost more oxygen than he previously estimated, because the moment he took a step forward, he, more or less, fell on his face.

"Whoa kid, take it easy. I've got ya taken care of." Wendy picked Dipper up and swung him onto her shoulders with ease, much to his surprise. Before he could protest though, she grabbed his hands and closed them around her neck. Darn it. Trapped. "Duck!"

Dipper lowered his head as they passed under the doorway, down the narrow stairwell, and back onto the landing. They proceeded into the bathroom, where Wendy set him on the counter gingerly before turning around to lock the door. "Okay dude, just give me a second. I'm not gonna give you a Mabel makeover, but I do wanna patch you up. If I'm a little rough on you, just remember: it's me thinking of Robbie."

"Got it," he replied with another weak smile, watching her rummage through the medicine cabinets. The shelves were bare, save for a tube of toothpaste, a hairbrush, soap, and two toothbrushes. "I think Stan has a first-aid kit under the sink."

"I'm surprised he even has one," Wendy mumbled, kneeling down to salvage the box from the mass of empty bottles and tissue boxes. "That guy wouldn't pay for food if he didn't love it so freakin' much. Ah, here we go." She placed the plastic box on the countertop, unlatching it and finally getting a good look at the damage Robbie had done.

Aside from his bleeding nose, which was crooked, but not broken, Dipper's left eye was beginning to show signs of blackening. His vest was missing, as were his shoes, and his remaining clothes were torn and spattered with blood. All of his exposed flesh was a landscape of bruises and minor lacerations. Otherwise, he had survived the ordeal in one piece- - physically. Wendy was no psychologist, but she was aware the incident had fractured his mind.

"Well, I'm no doctor, but I think you'll survive. Let me…" Wendy grabbed a washcloth, which she soaked with cool water. "Keep this pressed against your nose, it'll help the bleeding stop. And… let's see here, um, I'm sure this… spray stuff will, you know, help." The redhead fingered a bottle of Bactine, totally clueless as to what the medicine's purpose was. She sprayed it aimlessly at a particularly nasty cut.

If Dipper's washcloth hadn't partially obscured his mouth, he definitely would have screamed. That Bactine was a lie: it was a container of acid. "Ow! Ow, oh, that stings. Jeez Wendy, what's in that stuff?"

"Ah, something called benzalkonium chloride. It doesn't matter." She tossed it back into the box and withdrew a handful of wrapped Band-Aids. "Just what the doctor ordered: Nature's healing tool. I think I could fix a broken bone with one of these babies." After a few minutes of careful bandaging, Dipper was, quite literally, covered head to toe in Band-Aids. "There! See, better than any doc in Gravity Falls. Come on, let's go back to the attic before Stan wakes up and thinks we're robbing 'em."

They shared a laugh that continued back into the twins' bedroom, where Wendy closed the window and extinguished the lantern she hadn't destroyed. Dipper sat on his unmade bed, watching Wendy perform the actions with much more care than she handled everything else with. He smiled and then yawned, absolutely drained from the day's events. "Thanks, Wendy. And you won't tell Grunkle Stan or Mabel, right?"

The redhead mimed zipping her lips and throwing away the key, which Dipper mirrored. She nodded her head, catching a glimpse of the clock: ten past midnight. Her dad was still at the club, and her brothers had most likely left to engage in their nocturnal crusades around Gravity Falls. "See ya, kid."

"Wait!" The cry seemed to escape his throat without any approval from his brain. One hand went to the back of his neck, where he typically would have yanked at the brim of his signature hat. "Um… would you, uh… would you stay with me until I fell asleep?" If he was going to subject himself to lifelong humiliation, he might as well enjoy Wendy's company in the last moments before he fell asleep.

Aw, the kid deserved it. She joined him on the wide mattress, her muscles transforming to gelatin the moment they reached the fabric. They lay, side by side, in the darkness, gazing up at the cobwebbed beams supporting the rickety roof. Sleep was looming on the horizon for the pair when out of the void came a slightly drunken voice.

"Who wants a lamb? I do, I do…"

"Wendy?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't even try."

**a/n: **Oh. My. God. Why am I physically unable to write a "Gravity Falls" that isn't lame? Well, hopefully the next vignettes to follow this one will be better. Um, don't expect constant updates, because I am VERY busy with other projects at the moment. But, I hope you guys enjoyed this one, and thank you for being so nice to lil' ol' me.


	2. Chapter 2: Infatuated

Story Two:

Infatuated

**a/n: **Because I think twincest should be handled professionally, and I've always wanted to give it a whack. This is the first time I've… really dealt with it, so it won't be directly twincest. Just… bear with me. It'll be totally lame, because, well, who would I be if I weren't lame? I swear, the next one will be something more exciting. And, this one is only a drabble, so it's shorter than the first. Enjoy!

Uh, oh. Sweater Town.

Sweater Town had been established by a brief, but painful, fracture in her self-esteem. Her uniqueness was not always well-received by their peers: unnerving optimism and an imagination that put the greats to shame was not considered "normal" amongst middle school students. A couple of stupid guys had hassled her, which resulted in a tear through her favorite sweater. Gossip and even physical abuse couldn't break her, but an assault on her knitted treasures was personal. She had taught them a lesson, of course; she was freakishly strong.

But, she had avoided him on the bus home and stormed up to her bedroom without so much as a glance in his direction. As twins, they were closer than most siblings, and, on the bus, was often subjected to a rant about the day's events. Instead of dismissing it as a "girl thing", he had decided to investigate. And that's how Sweater Town originated.

Now, he was leaning against the doorway of their attic bedroom, watching her rock back and forth with her head pulled into the neck of her palm tree sweater. It was strange. Usually, he had the advantage of predicting these episodes, but she hadn't acted in any way that would forebode a visit to Sweater Town. He had been sent to retrieve her for lunch, and was surprised to find the door was locked. She wasn't one to lock doors. Luckily, he carried the key, along with many others, with him.

"Mabel?"

"Mabel's not here right now, she's in Sweater Town," the twelve-year-old girl said absently, sleeves hanging loosely on the sides, like a pair of dead worms. Yikes. She had pulled her knees to her chest and locked her arms around them, securing her entire body within the yarn confines of her sweater. Whatever had happened, it was bad.

"Is she gonna come out of Sweater Town?" he chided, a smile forming on his lips as they repeated the same old routine. Eventually, he would manage to coax her out: it was like waiting patiently for a spooked pet to emerge from beneath a sofa. He just had to choose his words carefully. It was a matter of comforting her.

"No."

This threw him for a loop. The customary response to that question was an irresistibly adorable sound, which she elicited as she buried herself deeper in fabric. He approached her and sank to the floor, wishing there was some way to meet her eyes. "Come on, Mabel. You don't have to come out of Sweater Town, just tell me what's going on."

The chocolate dome disappeared beneath a sea of gold fabric, a threatening precursor of a darker, more personal dilemma. He was abruptly reminded of hormones, which could have spurred this retreat to her childhood oasis. Eesh, that was a topic he would not wish to discuss with anybody, especially his twin sister. _Please, please, please, don't let it be hormones, don't let it be hormones. Wait until we're back home, where we have separate bedrooms._

This kind of situation called for a sneak attack. "Okay Mabel, if you don't want to talk, I'll just go back downstairs." He rose to his feet and lightly stepped on the floor, causing it sound like he was starting towards the door. Instantly, a pair of glistening eyes appeared over the edge of the sweater, and he allowed himself a moment to smirk victoriously. After silently gloating though, he tackled her, rolling them back a few feet. In the process, Mabel loosened her grip on the garment, until her entire head was free. Curses. He had won. "Ha, got you!"

In a swift reversal of fortune, he found himself pinned beneath his sister, her tiny hands clutching his shoulders in a vice-like grip. Man, who taught her how to fight? He squirmed around, struggling to escape her hold, but Mabel had no intent of releasing him. "Why would you try to take me out of Sweater Town? Huh? I was enjoying it there!"

"Hey, I just wanted to figure out why you were in Sweater Town," he protested, shoving forcefully at her collar. "I can almost always tell when you're about to go into Sweater Town." He continued to fight, and Mabel relented, rolling off of her brother. She wasn't angry at him, no; all of the negative energy she was hoarding had to be invested into something.

"I'm sorry, Dipper…" she sighed, tugging anxiously at the neck of her sweater. "I'm just really upset."

Dipper replaced his signature cap, tilting his head slightly, which expressed to Mabel his befuddlement on her current predicament. With a quick expulsion of breath, she pushed herself upright and stormed over to her half of the room. Mabel jabbed a poster irately, almost poking a hole through the flimsy material. "There! That's my problem!"

It was nothing more than tween celebrity Jacob Jameson, a blonde dreamboat that lip-synched to terrible music and smiled for the crowd. He was Mabel's current idol, so Dipper hadn't the slightest as to why Jacob Jameson would force Mabel into hiding. "Uh… was Jacob Jameson arrested? Were you not allowed to buy his new album?"

"NO! It's not Jacob Jameson, it's a guy! Not even a guy, it's NO GUY! Haven't you noticed, Dipper? I've met, like, a billion guys so far, and none of them paid attention to me! And the two guys that did pay attention to me either tried to kidnap me or kill you! I'm just… I'm never gonna meet a guy who actually likes me!" The brunette threw her hands in the air dramatically, then fell, stiff as a ramrod, to her bed. For a moment, all was silent.

Ouch. How was _this _going to pan out? Whenever Mabel discussed those of the opposite gender with him, the conversation was exponentially awkward. He could have shipped her off to Wendy for a little girl-on-girl talk, but that might upset her even more. Besides, the redhead had dated and broken the heart of every boy on this side of the planet, which probably would have urged her to purchase a one-way ticket to Sweater Town.

Ugh… he did not want to do this. He already had difficulty seeking the right words, and talking about guys with Mabel? It felt so weird, so wrong. But, Dipper absolutely loathed seeing her so depressed, even it was just a phase that characterized the onset of adolescence. "Mabel, this is only Gravity Falls. There's tons of guys out there. Besides, you're just twelve. This isn't going to be the time where you meet the perfect guy."

"I know," she moaned, rolling onto her back so that her lengthy curls pooled around her head. "But I don't get it! The gnomes just used me because they wanted a stupid queen, and Gideon is _crazy! _Is there something weird about me that turns guys away?"

Dear God, do not answer, _do not answer! _"Mabel Catherine Pines, you are not weird. You're special. You're different, and those other guys just can't appreciate how deep and unique you are. They're stupid and immature, and it'll take a long time before they start to realize who you really are. You don't have to go into Sweater Town every time a boy treats you badly. I know this isn't you. The Mabel I know doesn't let anything bother her, especially a couple of dumb jerks."

For what seemed like hours, Mabel's tongue was a stone in her mouth and her vocal cords knotted together like they were living creatures. Her brother had _never _praised her to such an extent, making her feel like the most special girl in the entire universe. A soft glow was incited within her, slowly radiating out until she was beaming, surrounded in her own luminescence. Mabel leapt off of her bed and threw her arms around Dipper, pressing her flushed cheek against his own. "Thank you!"

Had he really said all of that, or was it in his mind? He attempted to stave off her affectionate embrace, but Mabel was far too close and warm for him to pry away. In opposition of their self-acclaimed "awkward sibling hug", Dipper felt natural in this enfold, with his sister's cheekbone moments away from splintering his own. It was outrageously lame. Seriously, it was lame! Right? Apparently though, he had made her feel better.

"Hey, I was just trying to prove a point," he chuckled, rubbing her back reassuringly as her folded arms threatened to snap his spinal cord in half. "You don't have to- -"

Dipper was interrupted by Mabel's lips coming in contact with his cheek, mere centimeters away from meeting his mouth. She squeezed him once more before she skipped out of the room, prepared to meet the rest of the day with a dazzling smile.

But Dipper only stood in the center of his bedroom, one hand lightly caressing the spot where Mabel had kissed him and a smile spreading across his face.


	3. Chapter 3: Suffocate

Story Three:

Suffocate

**a/n: **Speculation about Stan's future roles in the series. Remember, it's just the prediction of a very tired writer, who was highly embarrassed because the hotel room only had one television and her parents were in the room while she watched the latest episode of "Gravity Falls". Was anybody else kind of disappointed by it? Hopefully, the next episodes will be better than the last two.

WARNING: Thanks to a comment by ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction, I'm adding this warning. This story has some disturbing content, which may not be suitable for younger or easily frightened readers.

Stanford Pines was not a heartless man.

To be quite frank, nobody was absolutely heartless. Those who slaughter, those who rape, even those who appear to be the very dredges of society, are not heartless. Even if there is nothing for them to go home to and love, the evil shrivels up and vanishes after they do whatever it was that made them horrible. Whatever possessed them has left.

What Stanford Pines was guilty of would not earn him a one-way ticket to the courthouse, nor would it be a crime deemed immoral by the law. In fact, he might be committed to a ward if he ever stood up and explained what he concealed behind a vending machine. Besides, he was the guardian of two twelve-year-olds, and he was not a heartless man. He would not abandon them just to protect a secret he had persuaded himself was nothing more than a crotchety man's ramblings.

The Secret concerned them, too. It concerned the sleepy town of Gravity Falls, where the citizens were nice and dull, the food was greasy, and the wildlife was postcard perfect. His sister described it as a "nice town to grow up in". Eventually, he would be the imminent doom of Gravity Falls, Oregon, but that wasn't what kept him awake on those humid, starless nights. It was the knowledge those plans were scheduled for July. His great-niece-and-nephew would still be here. They would suffer, along with the rest of the town.

Stan never stopped to grieve for anybody else. Sure, Soos would be missed. The man child, as strange and slow-witted as he was, had promised to be eternally loyal to him and had proved himself to be a suitable companion. Wendy was infinitely lazy, but they were on the same page about bending rules and she cared for the twins if he wasn't around to do it. Apparently, kids had to be fed every single day. Otherwise, there was nobody in Gravity Falls that would be missed.

That fact had motivated him for a vast majority of the project. Aside from his ragtag duo at the Mystery Shack, he never felt compassion for anybody. The only thing that mattered was coming out on top. As long as he was devoted to Velocity, nothing would hold him back from having what he always wanted: power.

But now, he had an itch, one deep inside of his brain that could not be scratched, not until he confessed that he was scared. Nothing more than a frightened boy who was afraid of leaving his parents and sleeping over at a friend's house. He was scared because he _cared. _Sentimentality was new to Stan, an alien emotion that simply terrified the living hell out of him. He had initially denied the first tickles of sympathy, but, dammit, it was festering, thriving within him.

It was the kids. When his sister's daughter had called him, begging him to take in her twins for the summer, it had taken bribery for Stan to agree. The last thing he needed was a bunch of kids hanging around while he labored to conclude the final draft of the plot Velocity had conceived. He had relented. They showed up the following afternoon.

He was not a heartless man. Stan had expected typical city kids, who had cell phones welded to their fingers and treated authority like something they had stepped on in the subway. But, of course, _these_ guys had to different. First off, the girl. Mabel was so optimistic, so warm and innocent, he knew it would be difficult having her die in the Secret. She was strange though, curious and carefree, the sort of girl who danced in the rain. The boy was odd as well. Dipper was more grounded than his sister, clever and conventional, and he would be a problem because he was suspicious of Gravity Falls. Still… he convinced himself that it was _not _heartwarming to see him hug his sister or try his best to help someone out.

Yes. It would be hard to kill them.

They were the itch. They were what kept him awake at night. Dipper and Mabel Pines. A pair of twelve-year-olds who were embarking on the voyage into adolescence, yet still possessed dazzling glimmers of childlike wonder. And, no matter how many times he insisted that he didn't love them, it just crept up on him. When Mabel fell asleep watching television and she started burrowing into his side, damn, it was almost impossible to push that away. When Dipper returned from another hunt, bruised and discouraged, and shared the armchair with him in comfortable silence, he couldn't repress it, there was no way.

Stanford Pines was not a heartless man.

It was best to admit the truth now, before he rid himself of them. He loved those stupid kids. And he did not want them to die. Well, he did not want them to die in such a horrible, painful way. As he methodically worked his way down the dark corridor, a thick pillow clutched in either hand, he recalled a short story he had once read. _Suffer The Little Children. _That was barbaric, though. In a way, his current solution was genius.

The attic seemed too close. In mere minutes, they would no longer exist. Granted, Stan was preventing a fiery future, and still, it just seemed unfair. Life was a glistening horizon, one he was snuffing out mercilessly. They would never go to college, get married, work, have kids, uncover what the mysteries of the universe were. Stan started the ascent.

_Now I lay thee down to sleep._

He opened the door slowly, mindful of the strident squeak it would elicit if the hinges were worked too hard. The bedroom was lit by a single lantern, flame diligently blazing and throwing ghoulish silhouettes against the walls. Deciding there was no need to view this hideous, but necessary, violence, Stan blew out the candle, plunging the room into oblivion. A crest of moonlight illuminated the path between the beds.

Stan had chosen to relieve Mabel first, knowing she had a smaller lung capacity and that the sooner he extinguished the gleam in those jade eyes, the better off he'd be. The chocolate-haired girl was on her side, breathing softly and her arms wrapped around a stuffed tiger. For a moment, he watched her sleep peacefully, preserving her innocent image as what he would remember her by.

With a soft sigh, Stan pressed the pillow to Mabel's face.

After seconds of strained wheezes, the brunette jolted awake and pawed futilely at the mass of feathers obstructing her nose and mouth. He found himself trembling as Mabel's valiant assaults against the pillow weakened; her lids lowered, giving her the appearance of somebody who was terribly confused. However, her pupils found him before she slipped into unconsciousness for the final time, and he perceived the flash of shock. Finally, Mabel Catherine Pines wilted like a parched flower and fell back onto her side. She would not wake up tomorrow.

It was so nerving. Stan had expected to feel anguish at the slaughter of his niece and nephew, but, God, the blood was on his hands now. He couldn't take it back. Mabel did not look serene in death, she seemed frightened and baffled. The prospect of death had never presented itself to Mabel, who found life to be a more apposite playmate. But he couldn't take it back. He could only move forward.

Dipper was settled on his back, Volume Three resting on his outstretched arm; a pen was clenched in his opposite hand, evidence that he had been journaling before succumbing to sleep. This was how he should remember them. Lost in a dream world, consoled by a false sense of security that they were invincible as they slept. No turning back now. He can't take it back. Stan pressed the pillow to Dipper's face.

The boy seemed to ascertain the fact his rhythmic breathing patterns had been disrupted quicker than his sister, for his eyes snapped open within ten seconds. To Stan's surprise, Dipper began to struggle against the fabric, thrashing wildly against the meaty hand that gripped his skull. Almost as if he had been expecting a scenario like this. Similar to Mabel though, these efforts began to dissipate once the lack of oxygen took a serious toll on his small body.

Their eyes met as Dipper started slipping, and what he saw was a young boy who was hurt and betrayed. The pillow vibrated slightly as a word escaped his lips. _Why? _But, soon enough, Dipper had returned to the mattress and was still.

Stan stepped away from the bedroom, scrutinizing his handiwork with a steadily increasing sense of dread. So he had rescued them from a far worse fate. But… they were only children. Children who had died in the hands of the adult issued to protect them. They had gone, kicking and screaming, into the void of death. Because of him. He can't take it back.

They were just as they had been before he suffocated them, excluding their wrinkled pajamas and the lack of audible exhalations. Before his instinctive obedience to Velocity could sink in, Stan hurried over to the beds and retrieved two objects. The pink sweater Mabel had been wearing when she came to him and the hat Dipper had taken to having with him everyday. They were only petty belongings, but they were souvenirs. Souvenirs of a time where he had felt love.

Stanford Pines returned to his bedroom and fell asleep, his alarm clock set for seven o'clock so he could dress, eat, and prepare the Mystery Shack for the first set of tourists. The Earth spun madly on.

**a/n: **What the hell did I just write? It went from… the reason Stan had the secret doorway behind the vending machine to him… killing the twins. I-I think I should go wash my hands now…

For Next Time: More Dipper/Wendy crap, because you guys seem to love it.


	4. Chapter 4: Tipsy

Story Four:

Tipsy

**a/n: **Yeah, I'm really sorry about the other story. It wasn't appropriate for the tone of this story and… well, it just wasn't appropriate. I'm sorry, and hope you guys enjoy this one more. More Dipper/Wendy, because you guys seem to love it. Will probably include more cheesiness. Because cheese is delicious. Anyway, enjoy!

He was cold. So cold. How could a summer night be so cold?

His wristwatch, a recent accessory he had clung to after it saved him from a rope net, had stopped, as if time itself had halted, suspending him in this ice-breath moment. The music continued to hammer along inside, nothing more than a relentless assault to the ear drums, an eternal orchestration of hellish voices and grating electronic bleeps. Midnight bled into him like a tangible darkness, plugging his veins with frost and tensing his muscles into a frenzied knot. The a.m. arrived in a razorblade blizzard.

Why did Grunkle Stan trust Wendy with the Mystery Shack? It was only one night, and she was supposed to return home around eleven o'clock, leaving them to return to their ordinary routine. The prospect of an evening with Wendy had been… well, he had nearly succumbed to a heart attack on the spot. The three of them had spent an hour together, drinking soda and riffing the shabby souvenirs lined on the shelves, while the radio coughed up Top Forty Hits. At nine-thirty, her friends had arrived, bearing "gifts" that were canned and plastered with warning labels. He had ventured outside to collect a few possessions he had left behind during the day's events. When he returned, the door was latched.

He wasn't surprised that nobody had noticed his absence. Mabel was asleep on her feet when he left the shack, and was probably snoring into her pillow at this very moment. As for Wendy, when she was around her friends, she was a person he didn't particularly enjoy. Those jerks were vulgar, cruel, the dredges of society. A girl like Wendy shouldn't waste her time with them, squandering away valuable time. So maybe he was envious… but, really, she deserved better.

A breeze stirred the pine firs bordering the Mystery Shack, ripping through his soul. He drew his knees to his chest, concentrating on radiating the heat throughout his small body. Arm shaking, he raised the wristwatch to his eyes, the cyan numbers doubling, then trembling. He tapped the plastic surface and was relieved to see the time skip ahead. One-fifty-two. Oh my God, how did they party this long? What was fueling them? And how did… how did she just forget he existed?

Tears boiled in his eyes, but he managed to brush them away before they froze within the lids. Not only was he cold, tired, and hungry, he was angry. Angry that if those idiots came within a mile radius of Wendy, she simply nudged him aside. Like putting the cat outside. Yeah, and the morning after, the cat was dead. Those dumb… whatever. He'd avenge himself someday, if his name wasn't- -

"Dipper!"

The door of the Mystery Shack burst open, increasing the volume of the music tenfold. His eardrums were vibrating in his skull. Wendy was leaning against the doorjamb, her eyes tinted a ghoulish scarlet and her gorgeous hair was sheared down to her mid-back. A can was clutched in her hand, the aluminum dented from her strong grip. "Hey, dude, what're you doing… what'cha doing out here? The party's over, and you-you were outside. It was crazy… and you were outside?"

"Wendy, are you… ?" Goose bumps rippled down his exposed flesh, no longer because of the chill. Something was significantly different about Wendy. He had managed to persuade himself in the first hour that those cans held nothing more than soft drinks, but… "Are you drunk?"

"Hey, hey, whoa, it's just… it's just beer, silly, silly, little silly. Oh, look, there's Nee. I always thought he was _cute!" _Her friends, equally intoxicated, were stumbling towards the pitted van parked in the drive, striking fear into his heart. Before he could raise this observation to them, he noticed that the vehicle owner, Thompson, appeared to be much more sober. "Hey! Don't you guys forget 'bout me! See ya tomorrow!"

Dipper was no stranger to alcohol. He had attended several school-sanctioned assemblies on the subject, where representatives from rehabilitation centers launched into tirades about the evils of drinking. On special occasions, his parents toasted tumblers of champagne and his aunt always served wine to the adults on holidays, but he had never seen anybody drunk. Especially Wendy. The redhead's fingers were curled around the rain gutter, and she swung around it gleefully. "Maybe you should go inside…"

"Hey, I-I just noticed something. I noticed something. You're so tiny! You know what, you know what I could do? I could probably put you in my pocket! You're like a travel-sized Dipper!" She slammed the empty can against the side of the shack, giggling madly.

He was somewhat stung by the comment, but reminded himself that everything Wendy said was under the influence. "Okay… that's nice. Here, come inside. And hurry, because I can't feel my fingers." Dipper gently grabbed her forearm, leading her back into the showcase arena of the Mystery Shack.

The first thought that entered his mind was _savages. _Almost every display had been turned onto their side, or shattered completely; a thin layer of soil and nacho chip crumbs dusted every surface. Half-crushed aluminum cylinderslittered the floor, their deadly contents accumulating in sticky puddles beneath them. The bottom half of Wendy's luscious curls were heaped in the corner, a pair of scissors resting atop them. Whatever had happened, it was no party- - it was a _riot. _"Wow… what were you guys doing in here?"

"They don't call it a party for nothin'," Wendy replied, her voice strangely giddy. She stumbled across the room, her drunken gait making it quite difficult to move very quickly. Dipper watched with morbid fascination, at the metamorphosis a few cans of beer could impose upon a rational-minded girl. It was going to be near impossible to handle her, but, well, she couldn't be _that _drunk, could she?

"Hey, hey, look! Hey, look, I'm Edward Scissorhands!"

_This is going to be the longest night ever, _he thought dryly as he rushed over to her side before she could slice her fingers in half.

::::::

Twenty minutes later, the cans had been tossed into the recycling bin, two mugs of hot chocolate were cooling on the countertop, and the sensation in Dipper's fingers had finally returned. Wendy was spinning idly on the stool behind the Mystery Shack's counter, her balance worse than that of a blind tightrope walker. He briefly pondered what he would do when she toppled off of her seat and slammed her head against the crates.

"Here Wendy, it's hot chocolate," Dipper said, feeling as though he was speaking to an infant. She dug her heel into the floorboards, the sudden cessation launching her lanky body in his direction. Within seconds, there was a _whole lot _of Wendy on top of him. From beneath the sixteen-year-old came a strained, hoarse voice, which rasped _"my back". _

"Hey, you're soft. I-I think I could use you as my pillow," she giggled, stroking his chocolate hair adoringly. Dipper, however, was not so pleased about his current position, mostly because he was certain Wendy had split a few of his ribs. If this was what being drunk was like, he would never touch a bottle with a ten foot pole. "Hey, listen, I'm gonna tell you a secret."

"Okay…"

"No, you gotta… you gotta promise never to tell anyone, 'cause it's a secret," the redhead insisted gravely, leaning down so her chin touched the floor, adjacent to her younger companion. Struggling to stay patient, Dipper nodded to indicate that whatever Wendy confided unto him would stay furtive until the day he died. She lifted his signature cap off of his head, swept away the tresses around his ear, and drew closer, her lips ghosting past his ear. "I think your hair is pretty."

A dull blush crept up his neck, melting away the last traces of frost clinging to his insides. Unsure as to whether accept this as a compliment or psychotic rambling, he simply touched her hand, grinning uneasily. "Um, thanks. That's, uh, that's nice of you to say." Wendy abruptly seized his shoulders, yanking him forward with enough vigor to wear a hole through his vest. "Wendy, what are you…?"

"I am very, very, _very _drunk. And-and I'm gonna throw up a _lot _later. But now, I just wanna tell you another secret. No, wait, I'm gonna _show _you another secret." The redhead pressed her plump lips against his own, her fingernails gouging into his flesh and her tongue attempting to invade the privacy of his mouth. Still, despite the fact Wendy's breath was enough to shrivel his tonsils, it was… magical. Wendy reared her head back to breathe, eyes out of focus, hair plastered to her freckled cheek by perspiration.

"Wendy, that was- -"

"Yeah, it was… silly. We're silly. I've gotta go home… " she sighed, pushing herself upright and swaying for a moment. "Have ya seen my keys, Pretty Hair?"

"Wendy, you can't drive home. No offense, but you're _really _drunk. You might get hurt," Dipper explained, still buzzed from his oral encounter with the redhead. The redhead elicited a rather rude noise with her tongue, utilizing the edge of the counter to hoist herself back onto her feet. Uh-oh. This was not going to be an easy battle.

"I'm not _that _drunk. I got better. I can totally drive. I-I didn't pass my driver's test 'cause I suck at driving. I'm totally okay with caring… I mean, driving." Before he could present another argument about the risk of getting behind the wheel, Wendy stumbled out the door, heading towards her dilapidated Volkswagen.

"Wait! Wendy!" Dipper scrambled to his feet, sprinting wildly after her. A burst of frigid night air struck him, reintroducing his bloodstream to ice cubes and shivers. The teenager was already shutting the door and fumbling for her keys, the rose tip of her tongue protruding from the corner of her mouth like a flower bud. "Wendy! Stop, it's too dangerous!"

She waved cheerfully at him before igniting the engine, the vehicle roaring to life beneath her. The Volkswagen lurched precariously backwards, planting spikes of fear in his chest. Oh, God. Wendy was going to die in his hands. Arms flailing sporadically, Dipper hurried behind the car, unsure as to what instinct sent him careening in that direction. The trunk slammed into his forehead, creating a thunderous sound upon impact.

_Ow… _

Upon perceiving the noise of an object colliding with the Volkswagen, a glimmer of sobriety flashed through Wendy's mind. She opened the door and dashed to the vehicle's rear, where Dipper was sprawled just below the fender. "Oh my GOD! Oh, God, I killed 'em, I killed 'em! Wait, don't panic… just get a shovel, tell 'em it was an accident. I need a shovel…"

"Wendy?"

"It's alive!"

"I told you not to drive…"

:::::

Feeling rested and prepared to face the day with a dazzling smile, Mabel Pines skipped downstairs, twirling into the kitchen. "Hello, family!"

"Family" consisted of Dipper, who had his head against the tabletop, two tablets of Aspirin dissolving in a glass of water inches away from his ear. Mabel studied the scene curiously, wondering what could have occurred last night after she went to bed. "Uh, Dipper, whatcha doing?"

"Ah, please don't talk," he moaned, hands clasping his temples like a sufferer of a migraine. "Just… please don't talk." Baffled, Mabel climbed into the chair set athwart from his, cupping her chin in her hands. After a few moments of silence, which seemed to stretch into decades for her, Mabel decided to gamble her life and ask him again.

"Were you hit by a car or something?"

"Yes." The boy shakily rose from the table, revealing an enormous bruise that resembled Wendy's license's plate suspiciously. He collected the glass and gulped it down as if it was his savior. Before Mabel could further interrogate Dipper, Wendy entered the room. Lavender rings circled her glazed eyes and her plaid top was spattered with questionable stains. Once she ascertained Mabel, the redhead reached out and looped her arms around the younger girl's shoulders.

"For the love of God- - do not _ever _drink and drive."

**a/n: **La, la, la, yuck, yuck, yay, hooray! Drunk Wendy was one of the more interesting characters I've ever invented, and I hope this had enough wackiness for you guys. Again, hope this was a good follow-up for yesterday's freak-out story.


	5. Chapter 5: Discussion

Story Five:

Discussion

**a/n: **Thank you, ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction! He suggested the basic plot of this story, and, after some expansion, I managed to compose a decent one-shot. So, after a couple of rather hit-and-miss stories, hopefully this one will be more solid. Please enjoy!

Dinner had not begun this way. Ordinarily, the last meal was accompanied by pleasant chatter and intricate descriptions of the day's events. It had initiated in this regular fashion, but now, a tense silence stretched across the table, drawing every person's muscles rigid. Even the slightest exhalation or cling of a fork against a dish would have sent one through the roof. Three pairs of eyes were fixated on the picture window overlooking the clearing ringing the shack, which was agape and provided an excellent view of… well, um… _this._

Stanford Pines cleared his throat loudly, hoping to attract his great-niece-and-nephew's attention. It was a fruitless endeavor: nothing short of a fiery apocalypse would divert their gaze from the repulsive scene. Gravity Falls appeared to be under a quiet spell, covering the town like a magician's cloak. Not even the birds dared to tweet. Finally, the elderly man hauled himself to his feet and slammed the window shut; a crack webbed in the corner. "Kids, we need to have a talk."

Mabel finally dared to speak, her face unusually pallid and her jade eyes the size of dollar bills. "Please tell me they're wrestling…"

::::::

Stan couldn't believe his sister's kid had never given the twins The Talk. It was quite evident that they had absolutely no knowledge of "love" beneath their belts, and he wasn't exactly willing to explain the complexity of it. They were settled in the armchair athwart from him, trembling as if they had witnessed a gory homicide. He couldn't blame the poor kids. What they had experienced was scarring.

"Okay, ah… I can't believe no one's ever given you The Talk," Stan sighed, removing his signature Fez and fingering the tassel anxiously. "And if it wasn't for what you saw, I woulda never even thought about it. Ah, okay. What do you kids know about… _love?"_

"Ooh!" Mabel thrust her arm into the air, almost jabbing Dipper in the chin. "Love is when you meet a really cute boy and have an epic summer romance! Oh, and it's even better when the boy is a vampire!" She beamed innocently at her great-uncle, prompting him to slam his forehead against the palm of his hand. Oh, boy, this was going to be much tougher than he thought.

"Uh, sure. Why not. Anyway, uh, what those two squirrels were doing was, you know, a kind of love," he explained stiffly, "and, uh, it's something that even humans do." Stan watched, discouraged, as the color drained from their visages like tepid water from a bathtub. God, this was going to be the longest lecture of his life.

"You mean… people actually _do _that to one another?" Dipper implored, his voice growing tight with fear. The furry creatures had been… _hurting _one another, how was that a representation of love? Whatever Stan was attempting to elucidate, he wasn't making much sense.

"Well, yeah. My sister did it, your parents did it, and, someday, if you're lucky, you'll do it too. And when I say this, I'm mostly talking about Mabel; your chances are slim, kid." Might as well be brutally honest with the boy. He didn't have a clue as to what the offensive comment meant. "Anyway, it's a… look, I bet your parents told you babies come from the stork, right?"

"I think a unicorn delivers them on a rainbow from Heaven," Mabel declared, sweeping her arm through the air to suggest the arc of the rainbow from her castle in the sky. Both Dipper and Stan stared questionably at the exuberant brunette, before the latter shook his head slowly, deciding to cease his efforts to soften his answers.

"Okay, look. A man and woman do… what you saw, and, boom, if they're not careful, they have a baby. Your parents did that together twelve years ago, and, nine months later, they had twins. If you're not a lost cause, you do it at least once in your life." Stan swiped at his brow with the back of his hand, wondering when it became so goddamn stuffy in the living room. Mabel gazed curiously at him for a moment, then tilted her head to one side.

"Grunkle Stan, I don't understand. What exactly _is _this thing you keep talking about? You told us it's how kids are born, but you didn't tell us what it was."

"Yeah, yeah, what were those squirrels doing? And what does that have to do with our parents?" Dipper added, a vague sense of dread creeping into the back of his mind. For some odd reason, he had the strange feeling that he was aware of what Stan was trying, and ultimately failing, to illustrate. Did he know what…?

"Okay, I'm through with beating around the bush. Kids, this is what those squirrels were doing."

::::::

Wendy absolutely despised working the evening shift at the Mystery Shack. Ordinarily, she liked to be in her own house, or wreaking havoc around Gravity Falls with her friends at this hour. The tantalizing aroma of supper in the next room did little to improve her mood, and she swiped away a strand of saliva that had unconsciously formed on her lower lip. Ugh, the second she got off work, she was heading towards the diner.

The redhead cupped her chin in her hands and swung her slender legs idly, watching the dust motes drift lazily through the shaft of fading daylight. As per usual, no more tourists had determined their life would not be complete without a shard of Stan's "crystals" or a snapshot of the goblin's ear. "La, la, la…" Wendy began to hum, imagining the lyrics to the latest Top Forty on a mental tablet. "La, la, you have half a heart, and I've got half a mind to leave you in the dust… but, la, la, the way you move, it keeps me going… la, la."

"AAH!"

The teenager toppled sideways off of her stool, landing roughly on her shoulder. She lay there, dazed, for a brief moment, the hideous shriek ricocheting throughout the caverns of her mind. Yeesh, unless Stan was modeling his swimming trunks, she hadn't a clue as to what could have provoked a reaction from the twins. With a soft grunt, Wendy heaved herself to her feet and glanced around the showcase arena of the shack. "Um, guys? Is there fire? Blood? Old guy legs?"

As if they had heard her, the pair of twelve-year-olds sprinted into the rotunda, screaming hoarsely. Wendy watched, both baffled and fascinated, as they ran in senseless circles, arms flailing sporadically. Eventually, her curiosity got the best of her, so she hopped over the countertop, grabbing the first twin that dashed past: Dipper. "Whoa, dude, what's going on?"

He studied her for a second, eyes widening and a glint of mortal terror flashing across his visage. "Ah! No! Stay away! I'M PURE!" Sounding more like he was being handled by the Anti-Christ, Wendy dropped Dipper out of sheer surprise. _What the hell? _she thought incredulously, wondering what in the world could have scared them into this state of paranoid frenzy.

Stan loped into the arena, meeting eyes with Wendy, whose expression made it evident that she had caught a glimpse of his current crisis. He approached her, barely avoiding Mabel as she barreled fast, curls flying out like a curtain behind her. "Ah, so I gave them… The Talk."

"What the- - Jesus, Stan, why'd you tell them about that? They're, like, twelve. They're kids! The last thing they need is _that _to think about. Dipper looked at me like I was the Devil or something. Great, and what made you want to spoil a great evening with The Talk?" Wendy folded her arms before her chest, waiting impatiently for an answer from the older man.

"Hey, it wasn't my fault. We were tryin' to eat dinner, when they saw these two squirrels going at it on this branch in front of the window. So, I had to give them The Talk. What, you think I like telling kids what made 'em? I had to break it to 'em," Stan asserted. Together, they observed Dipper and Mabel weave aimlessly around the room, their screeches losing steam as lethargy began to challenge horror. "See, they're beginning to calm down."

"Yeah, because Dipper's about to pass out and Mabel's going to Sweater Town. You totally scarred them for life. You coulda lied or something, said they were wrestling. That's what my dad said until I saw my brother and the check-out girl at the drug store 'dancing' in my own bed." She shook her head mournfully, saddened by the sight of her younger charges, who now knew one of the worst secrets of the world.

"… I'm not gonna answer that. Besides, what's the harm in telling the kids the truth? It's not like it'll be any worse when their parents tell 'em in the fall. They're learning about it in a nature setting."

"That's not very reassuring, Stan."

"Whatever. They'll run themselves out soon enough."

::::::

"They finally fall asleep?"

"After I convinced Mabel that nobody was waiting under her bed to… er, violate her, they managed to go to sleep." Wendy collapsed onto the sofa, kicking off her cowgirl boots and eliciting a strange moan that expressed their joint exhaustion. "Man, I can't _believe _how weird this day was. I don't think I'm ever gonna give my kids The Talk."

"Ah, don't worry. They'll get over it eventually. They're good kids, they won't do anything stupid. As long as nobody tries to make them do something stupid," Stan added, mentally knocking on wood as the words passed his lips. "Wendy? Do you think I did the right thing, telling them about… you know, and not hiding anything?"

The redhead was genuinely shocked by how concerned he seemed, which was definitely a first for the crotchety man. Sure, he cared about the twins, but their relationship had been more of an amity, contriving a mutual pact that established their friendship. "Hey, Stan, you were pretty gutsy about it, but the kids had to learn. You also steered them onto the right path. They aren't gonna get in the car with a stranger now."

"Well, they wouldn't get in a car with a stranger, even if they hadn't had The Talk. I guess I just wanted to give it to someone. No one ever gave it to me." Wendy lifted her head inquisitively, a grim smile spreading across her freckled visage as she connected the dots. Stan was willing to administer The Talk to anybody who dared ask him, only because nobody had ever taken the time to give it to him.

"So, I guess that's why you don't have your own kids?"

"Hey, you doubt me? I was quite a sight back in the days. I wore pants all the time, I smelled like cologne, and I didn't depend on stupid tourists for my income. It was close with a couple of girls, but I'll never forget the first time: Susan."

_Susan. _Without a second thought, Wendy understood that Stan was recalling an encounter with Gravity Falls' lazy waitress. Maybe he hadn't _always _been a lost cause. "The ladies better watch out: we've got a player on the loose." They exchanged sardonic glances and the corners of their mouths lifted in a reciprocated mocking for one another. "Well, I've gotta go and bleach my brain. See ya later."

"Are you gonna show up for work on time tomorrow?"

"Don't count on it," Wendy called over her shoulder, heading towards the back door. As she was reaching for the doorknob, however, a certain sight hovered on the very edge of her peripheral vision. Her heart plunged through her body, the floor, and into the fiery core of the Earth. "Uh, Stan? I think those squirrels are still at it."

"Just leave them, Wendy. They're not ready for The Talk yet."

**a/n: **For some reason, I had the urge to write some Stan/Wendy at the end. NOT ROMANTIC! It's more of a mutual understanding that they're trying to steer the twins onto the right path. Sorry if the writing dragged a bit, it is late: so late, I've already watched these "American Dad" reruns. I am so screwed. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed, and if you have any ideas, feel free to leave them!


	6. Chapter 6: Ponder

Story Six:

Ponder

**a/n: **Whoo! You guys are the best! Forty reviews? My God, I send thee hugs! Many hugs! Anyway, this story is a bit different from the others, but, hopefully, you'll enjoy as much as the others. Includes a little bit of Dipper/Wendy. Enjoy!

_Hello… hello, is anybody there?_

The thought was not his own.

A sharp scent invaded his senses, almost violently, hooks penetrating into the folded recesses of his brain. _Bubblegum. _He absolutely despised the taste of gum; it was akin to gnawing mindlessly on a lump of rubber. Still, the razor slashed into his psyche and the thoughts ricocheted throughout the caverns of his hazy mind. The thoughts were not his own. They arrived, soft as taffeta, on a bubblegum breeze and stuck to the notions he had always harbored as his own. Muffled voices wove their way through the ebbing tide of consciousness.

In an odd way, he could sense her presence. Of course, being twins, they had always held roots in one another: knowing when the other was in peril, awakening at the same instances if one had suffered a nightmare. This was different. He could actually _feel _her, the very essence of her, as if their brains were starting to intertwine and exchange information. The soft fabric of her sweater, the quiet sighs she elicited during sleep, the scar on her elbow from third grade. It was in him and he could feel her.

Iconic moments of his life flashed through his field of vision, prompting him to wonder if the blow to the head they had received was fatal. She was settled in the very back of his mind, on the outskirts of his peripheral vision. More than anything, he wished to ask her exactly why she was a part of him and whether or not they were laying in the leaves, side by side, heartbeats having faded into oblivion.

And then- -

::::::

"Hey, I think he's waking up."

"I don't understand why we couldn't just stick to my plan."

"Their parents would catch on eventually, Stan. Besides, they're alive. And he's gonna wake up, so keep your mouth shut about tossing them into the river."

She had vanished from his vision, but she was still inside of him. His imagination proposed the image of their minds eclipsing and melding into a single lump of books and sequins and paranoia and optimism. A pulsating and persistent radiance, a fantastic sun, rose over the sea of unconscious, bringing light to its dark, ever-flowing layers. It was painful, bleeding into him like a hot iron on hide. He forced his eyes open, just to banish the horrible ball of fire from his head.

A freckled visage hovered inches away from his own, and drew back with an alleviated smirk. "Hey, look, Sleeping Beauty's awake. Seriously dude, what were you guys hunting for? Head trauma? Better be glad that I'm here to save you from your great-uncle. He'd use a Band-Aid to fix leprosy." Wendy handed the twelve-year-old boy his signature cap, leaning down to inspect the nasty wound that she herself had crudely bandaged. "But, thanks to Rescue Squad Wendy, you'll probably survive. 'Course, I think you may have lost a tooth or… six."

Frantic, he used his tongue to inspect the landscape of his mouth and was relieved to discover that none of his teeth were absent. "Th-thanks, Wendy." Dipper leaned away from the throw pillow, unconsciously clenching his jaw as a sharp pain cut across his temple. "Ow… where… how long have I been out?"

"Well, my guess is four hours. Stan was planning to throw you into the river- -"

"She's lying!"

"- - so it's good that you woke up. Mabel came to for a second about an hour ago, and started talking about something called, um, 'The Great Space Escape'. Yeah, I have no idea. But, I think everything's gonna be okay, as long as you don't operate any heavy machinery for the next day or so. Hey, don't scare me like that, kid." Wendy smiled with satisfaction as the color rapidly returned to the chocolate-haired boy's previously pale cheeks.

Dipper allowed his fingers to stray to the new, but wrinkled, bandage at his hairline. He struggled to remember exactly how he had received the abrasion, not to mention why Mabel had injured herself at the exact same instant. _Mabel. _The memory of her becoming one with him struck again, sending a chill racing up his spine. He glanced anxiously at her: she lay stiffly by his side, silky curls forming a puddle around her head. He had the fleeting notion that they had never been closer, at least, not since they had shared a womb.

_The Great Space Escape. _The blush that had ignited in his cheeks spread to his neck, flesh taking on the appearance of cloth over a candle. As a child, Dipper had preferred to stay in small, dark spaces, such as his closet and beneath the slide under their school playground. He had never told anybody about it, mainly because he didn't like to be around the other children. While Mabel played hopscotch or jump rope with the other girls, he read books about monsters. The Great Space Escape. He hadn't thought about that in years.

_Why didn't you tell me about that?_

The thought was _not his own._

As he settled back against the pillow, trembling and his head pounding, Dipper smelled it again: _bubblegum._

::::::

By eight-thirty, things had quieted down considerably. Wendy had left half an hour ago, but not before punching him lightly in the shoulder and declaring that he was a "pretty brave little dork". He managed to wait until her Volkswagen was out of the driveway to emit the squeak building in his throat.

Grunkle Stan had watched television with him for awhile: he even sacrificed the remote control, an action of unfathomable generosity. Eventually though, the evening herd of tourists wandered into the Mystery Shack, forcing him to go and entertain them for an hour or two. Dipper sat contentedly in the warm armchair, the previously intense pain in his forehead abating until it was more of a dull ache. A movie was beginning on the science-fiction channel: _The Mist. _He absolutely adored films based off of Stephen King books and novellas, his favorite being _The Shining, _which he and Mabel had watched at one in the morning against their parents' wishes. She had slept in his bed that night, asking him every five minutes if he had heard a noise.

"Hmmm…?"

"Mabel!" The brunette was stirring on the couch, eyelids fluttering and her hands going to the center of her forehead. Dipper rushed to his sister's side, helping her sit up straight. "How are you feeling? I can't believe- -"

"The Great Space Escape." Mabel's jade eyes widened, as if she couldn't believe the words had left her mouth, and she grasped a chestnut curl to chew anxiously on. "While I was asleep, I saw you in the Great Space Escape. I didn't know you used to do that. I didn't even know you called it that!" Their gazes met, communicating the befuddlement both felt for their current situation. The scent of bubblegum swept through his nose, despite the fact the only thing in Mabel's mouth was a tress.

_That's so weird! Why did I say that?_

The thought was not his own.

_My God, am I… am I hearing Mabel in my head? _Before Dipper could further ponder the internal query, she seized his shoulders, pulling him towards her violently. At this angle, he could perceive traces of her gash beneath the plastic edges of the bandage, angry crimson streaks that probably resembled his own. Words entered his mind like a thought bubble, her bright voice narrating them.

_Testing… testing… hey, Dipper! Can you hear me? I'm thinking all of this! Are you hearing me? _"OW! Mabel, don't do that so… loud." The realization struck him square in the chest, knees transforming to gelatin under the strain of comprehension. "Mabel… are we talking to each other… with our minds?"

"I told you on Tuesday that twins are telepathic, but you didn't listen to me!" she declared proudly, giving her dumbfounded sibling a playful shove.

::::::

Somewhere outside of the Mystery Shack, a petite figure wandered aimlessly through the army of pine firs guarding the dilapidated structure. They glanced at the picture window providing an excellent view of the attached living room and growled menacingly. The form then reached for its throat, as if expecting there to be a charm there for it to clutch with fury.

"You're gonna wish you never tussled with lil' ol' me."

::::::

_Hey, Dipper, wake up… wakey, wakey, eggs and bakey! Dipper… this is your conscience… everybody in Gravity Falls knows that you like Wendy…_

It was Mabel's voice. In his head, of course. After a few more trials with their newfound telepathy, Dipper had assessed their situation with the assistance of his book. Apparently, receiving the simultaneous injuries to their heads, along with being twins, had created a psychical bond between them, allowing them volley words back and forth. Whenever Mabel addressed him through their supernatural power, a crisp wind carried in that familiar scent. He was going to be _very _tired of gum in just a few hours…

Mabel was absolutely ecstatic. Mere days ago, she had proclaimed that twins shared paranormal links that, if triggered, could obliterate entire cities, and had spent the better part of the day attempting to guess what number he was thinking of. Dipper, on the other hand, was not a fan of his sister invading his mental privacy, even if they already had a decent idea of what the other was thinking.

Now, her thoughts shrieked through his skull and roused him from a deep sleep, not to mention a wonderful dream concerning a certain redhead. He moaned and buried his face into his pillow, wishing there was a tactic that could silence Mabel. So far, Dipper hadn't unearthed the mental block he so desperately sought, giving Mabel to opportunity to broadcast her own thoughts into his head.

_Guess what! I had a dream about a giant crab last night! I hope Grunkle Stan didn't forget to buy food again, I want cereal for breakfast. Hey, if you're awake, I'll race you downstairs. If not, I'm just gonna sing in my head… one, two, three-_

_I'm awake! For God's sake Mabel, it's seven o'clock in the morning! I don't know if you know this, but I can hear everything you're thinking! And I'm really tired. _Despite his efforts to defend his lethargic mind from the wrath of his twin sister, Dipper was aware that there was no way to stop Mabel from "thinking" to him. It was like somebody poking his brain.

_Aw, you're just tired because you had a dream about Wendy last night! I heard you thinking about it when you woke up. It was hilarious, because you dreamt that Wendy was Rapunzel and you were the prince, and you climbed up the tower using "pure manliness". Yeah, right, Mister Manly Manlington. _

_Mabel! Get out of my head! Gah… look, if we're going to keep doing this all day, we have to talk to each other in front of other people. We can't go around looking at each other and having a conversation. We also need to find out what… this is, and if we can fix it. _He rolled unceremoniously out of bed, slightly chilled by how Mabel simply stared at him, like a doll that played a recording of her voice.

_Come on, this is awesome! Your voice sounds all echo-ey! Ooh, does my voice sound echo-ey to you? Pigs! In! Space! _A high-pitched giggle drilled into his skull as he placed his signature cap over a head of ruffled hair. _Don't worry, it won't take much to keep me from talking. _"But we can still keep thinking to each other, right?"

The sudden appearance of speech was jolting, prompting Dipper to wonder how they could maintain verbal relations when telepathy was so much… easier. "Of course, we just have to make sure nobody knows that we're thinking. People might get a little… they won't like it. You know how the people in this town are."

"Yeah, it's full of total nut jobs, like the policemen and Gideon. It's just our little secret, Dipping Sauce!" Mabel hopped out of bed and yanked her lavender nightgown over her head to change into her rose sweater. In order to give her privacy, Dipper turned away from her to pull on his navy vest, which was becoming tattered with constant wear. It, along with his cap, were permanent reminders of the adventures he had encountered with them.

_Ooh… ooh… I'm haunting you…_

_Mabel, that's just you doing the voice you used for the pelican. Come on, let's go downstairs._

::::::

During breakfast, the twins had constructed a plan to return to the point of origin: the oak tree. A writhing mass of roots and gnarled limbs, it was the spot where they had both sank into unconsciousness. Packed for a day of research ahead, they strode into the showcase arena of the Mystery Shack, which was presently crowded with the same groups of tourists.

Wendy, feet propped up on the countertop, lowered her magazine at the sound of synchronized footsteps approaching her. "Hey dorks, glad to see that you're still alive and not haunting me. Where are you going today?"

"We're going to- -" Mabel was interrupted by a mental cry from Dipper, which burst into being like an eruption of static on a radio station. _Tell a lie, tell a lie! _"We're going to, uh, look for bat-people." _That's the best you could come up with?_

_Hey, I saw it in your book! Besides, she's barely listening, she's looking at some guy across the room. Ooh… he's really cute… _Mabel expected a quick admonishment from her brother for her to pay more attention to their crisis, but instead received a heart-breaking frequency that she probably shouldn't have overheard. "Dipper, you go ahead, I'll be right there."

He eyed her suspiciously, but headed outside anyway, his departure signaled by the ring of the bell above the door. Once he was out of earshot, Mabel snuffed out her thoughts and acted purely on what she had heard from her brother's mind. "Okay, Wendy, I know you think Dipper's just a kid you know, but he really, really thinks you're sweet and pretty and he just wants to impress you. But don't tell him I said that! He'll kill me. And then run away from home."

Mabel sprinted after Dipper, not wishing to witness Wendy's reaction to the love-sick rant she had just heard. The redhead dropped the magazine entirely, a grin forming on her freckled visage and her eyes alit with understanding.

::::::

"This is where it happened. See? There's my headband!"

Mabel rescued the sea foam hairpiece from the forest floor, hugging it securely to her chest. They stood under a broad canopy of foliage, which seemed to stretch on for miles and shade the ground below. Ribbons of sunlight dappled the leaves at their feet and mid-morning heat drew perspiration from their pores.

"Here's the branch… I don't understand how we just suddenly started thinking to each other." Dipper thumbed through the pages of his book, searching for another passage about telepathy. "Look, Mabel! It says here that because twins are so close, they already have very weak telepathic connections. It also says that getting head injuries at the same time is one of the ways it can be strengthened…"

_See! We always were telepathic! _She was rolling around carelessly in the jade leaves, bits clinging to the stitches in her sweater. _Why do you want to stop this? It's awesome! What if we're… taking a test at the same time and we can send answers to each other!_

_Mabel, that's cheating! Besides, it says here that telepathic connections started by head injuries can stop at any moment. The book also says that five years ago, a pair of twins named Elliott and Melody were in a car crash, and were able to think to each other for two years. But somebody assaulted them and it suddenly stopped. That could happen to us!_

_Hey, it doesn't have to last forever. When we get older, we're going to kick each other out of our heads all the time. I don't really care how long it lasts, I just like thinking to you._

_I like thinking to you, too. But, Mabel, it says here that whoever assaulted the twins meant to do it. They didn't want them to be able to think to each other. We have to be really careful, or else the same thing might happen to us. I just wish I knew why they were hurt and who did it… and if they would do the same thing to us._

_Come on, you worry too much. You're so paranoid. Who would actually figure out we think to each other if we never told them? _

Their conversation was interrupted by the unfamiliar resonation of a twig snapping nearby, followed by lithe feet attempting to cross the leaves soundlessly. Somebody was nearby. They met eyes, dead silence filling their minds as the tension began to build. In the far distance, a hollow clap of thunder boomed. By noon's time, a summer storm would be upon Gravity Falls.

_Dipper, I- -_

All of a sudden, Mabel's body was encased in a cyan aura and dragged ruthlessly to the ground. Acting on impulse, Dipper lunged forward to grab her, only to be paralyzed by the light that had taken Mabel. Unintelligible thoughts burbled into his mind, a tumult combination of hers and his own. Panic rose like smoke. _Mabel! Mabel, hold on!_

_Dipper! _It came as a cry, a horrible cry, and as it overwhelmed him, Dipper realized two things: he still had the book and _he had been in this situation before._

::::::

_Hello… hello, is anybody there?_

The thought was not his own.

But, now, this was normal, as was the pain, which was a tepid, but ever-churning, sea. The wound on his head though, it was an island of fire. He understood what was happening, in a twisted way, out of the corner of his eye, and he had to contact Mabel. An image of her, paralyzed and floundering about, surfaced in the ocean. _Mabel… I'm here. Where are we?_

Like a radio transmission in a snowstorm, her thoughts were garbled, fuzzy. He reached blindly for her, for that bubblegum, for that voice, and turned up empty. _Mabel… I can't hear you. Please, where are you? _Once again, she was reduced to a dull roar, wind and thunder in the tar-black skies above.

And then- -

"We meet again. _Friend."_

::::::

Mabel was held delicately in his arms, a string of purple beads wrapped around her forehead. She stared numbly ahead, almost indifferently, but tears were gathering in the corners of her eyes and she trembled as if electric currents were running through his fingers. It was then he comprehended that he was bound at the ankles and his left wrist was trussed to a pipe. His heart threatened to beat right out of his chest.

"G-Gideon?"

"You know, Dipper Pines, I'm quite surprised how quickly you figured out your lil' ol' power. My ol' man told me it took the Walker twins a few days to discover they had the power." _Elliot and Melody Walker. _Three years ago, Gideon would have been too young to endanger their lives, but he could have made his father do his bidding. And now, he was going to do the same to him. Not Mabel- - _him._

"But-but… why? And what did you do to Mabel?" The violet stones on her brow didn't look natural.

"You're not the only one with a special book, friend. They're a special stone from the mines in Gravity Falls. Are they rare? Of course. But people have difficulty saying 'no' to me." The cherubic boy stroked Mabel's hair lovingly, causing her to tense up and grit her teeth. "Legend says the Indians wore them to keep spirits from invading their minds. Spirits and… telepathy."

No wonder her voice had seemed distorted. "Let her go! We're not afraid of you and your mind games!" Dipper yanked furiously at the ropes holding him to the duct, only succeeding in scraping flesh away from his wrist. "Why do you want to stop us from communicating?"

"There's only room for one psychic in this town, boy. And once you're out of the way, Mabel will be my marshmallow. My normal marshmallow. And she'll last longer than Melody Walker." Fear struck him like a bolt of lightning, the perfect accompaniment to the rain drumming outside. Had he taken out the Walker's telepathy, just to have Melody? Would he do the same to Mabel?

"Get away from him, psycho!" Mabel finally screamed, kicking wildly at him and prying his fingers from her sleeve. In their struggle, the chain of stones fell from her forehead and her thoughts flooded into his mind. _Oh my gosh oh my gosh oh my gosh he wants to kill you and kidnap me just because we can do this what are we gonna do?_

_Mabel! Calm down, it's going to be okay. We just have to figure out a way to stop Gideon from wanting us. _

_But he wants to kill you! He'll put the stones back on me and we won't be able to think… he has another amulet, Dipper! I don't know where he got it from, but he has one! And I don't understand- -_

_Mabel… it's okay. We're going to be okay. We defeated Gideon once: we can defeat him again. Just calm down… calm down._

Her breathing returned to its ordinary rhythm, but her cheeks were the color of plain yogurt and her eyes were wide. Gideon reappeared behind her, gently wrapping his arms around her in a lover-like embrace. It occurred to Dipper that the tiny murderer would never lay a harsh hand on Mabel. He loved her. Sure, driving something sharp through his chest wouldn't even faze him, but Gideon was in passionate love with Mabel.

"You just wait, my sweet. In a few moments, we'll be together, just like we were supposed to be. I can't have _anything _get in the way." He tenderly replaced the crown of purple jewels, and took a moment to press one of her curls to his pug nose and inhale deeply. Mabel stiffened, an expression of disgust mangling her visage.

Mabel was thinking erratically, because her frightened rambles fuzzed stridently. Dipper wished there was a way to console her, but he knew that speech would probably lead to the punishment he almost received a few short weeks ago. He latched his front teeth to his tongue, just to ensure it was still there.

"Dipper Pines… I don't know how an apple so _rotten _could be related to a peach so sweet." The brunette shivered at the memory of Gideon reciting a similar phrase to her when he arrived on her doorstep. "I've been waiting for weeks now, but this is just the straw that broke the camel's back, isn't it? You'll just get closer… and closer… and closer to Mabel. Like little Elliott Walker. He was a lot like you, that boy. Adventurous. _Invasive. _But Melody was a sweetheart. Not as sweet as Mabel, though. She's a real sugarcube."

"Don't." The word escaped him without any approval from his mind, and the thought that _was _his own was _oh boy you've really done it now he'll kill ya twice feed your tongue to the cat. _"Don't talk about my sister that way. Don't talk about her like she's your property."

"Well, it won't matter much to you anymore. I'll treat Mabel like the queen she is, don't worry about a thing. _Friend. _Reading minds ain't never going to get you two anywhere. I read minds to find folks like me, and they just happen to be twins. You'd be surprised, Dipper Pines. Your book told you about the Walker's. Has it told you about Mac and Brielle? Misty and Roger? Twins come to Gravity Falls every year."

"You… you just find them and trap them?" Dipper asked incredulously, not aware how dark Gideon was. He might have treated Mabel like a goddess, but he would toss away their siblings like they were a cereal box toy.

"Not all of them. And nobody has compared to Mabel. You've done a lot of stalling, friend, and I don't think we can put this off any longer." Gideon reached for his neck, where an amulet, an exact copy of his other one, rested, and froze Mabel in place. "Like it? They're all over Gravity Falls. Why, they're as common as pinecones. This town is just chockfull of secrets. Too bad you'll never figure them out."

Gideon calmly picked up a section of lead piping, which looked awfully heavy and dark in his ghostly white hand. Thunder rattled its bones just above the abandoned factory's metal roof. It was the perfect setting for manslaughter. "So long. Friend." The piping rose above him, an ominous thunderhead about to burst and release his untimely death.

For some odd reason, Dipper felt unnaturally calm. Sure, he was the "paranoid" one, always terse, always looking over his shoulder for danger, but now that it was just inches away, it was gazing into the crystalline depths of a cerulean lake. He was going to fall in and he was enjoying the beauty of it. There were flashes, little threads: beads of blood dribbling down his arm, the soft light radiating from Mabel, every freckle dotting Gideon's ridiculously round cheeks. And it was there, real, things were flowing and spinning and moving but he sure as hell wasn't with them and that was okay wasn't it because he was going to die and it was a big game can you just because you slam into a tree and ow I can hear you- -

_I won't let you!_

The thought was not his own.

In those quicksilver moments, razor-winged butterflies dashing through his field of vision, Dipper saw Mabel in her otherworldly luminosity. She _was _a goddess, an angel, and he understood, blinded by her light, why Gideon wanted to have her by his side for eternity.

And then- -

:::::

"Guess what number I'm thinking of."

The command was frantic, mildly hysterical, and her voice was not accompanied by bubblegum. He was slightly aware of his wrist on fire, but, of all the times he had been unconscious in the past twenty-four hours, this was the clearest. Within moments, her face was there, curls damp with perspiration and her chin smudged with soil and dust. Even though his eyes had yet to regain focus, she demanded mental activity of him again. "Guess what number I'm thinking of."

"Negative eight?" Dipper guessed hoarsely, only because that was always Mabel's number. She gripped his shoulders and lifted him off of the concrete with ease.

"Yes! That means we can still hear each other! It didn't work!" She wore an expression of intense concentration, which broke after a second of thought. "You're thinking the number forty-six! I know it, I know it!"

"Twenty-nine. Mind if we get out of here before Gideon gets back? I want to sleep for twenty hours and not have you know what I dreamed out." Together, no longer telepathic, but closer nonetheless, they started into the drizzling rain, heading towards home with light shoulders and light in their eyes.

:::::

"Hi, dork. I just wanna tell you… you don't have to impress me. I think you're pretty cool anyway."

"Uh, um, wow, that's… um, th-thanks Wendy. I-I didn't know you, um, and- - wait a minute… MABEL!"

**a/n: **Oh my God, that took forever. I slaved over the keyboard forever, and all that resulted was a concoction of panic, telepathy, and Gideon. And none of it made sense. If you understood a word of this incoherence, bravo. See you guys next time.


	7. Chapter 7: Adoration

Story Seven:

Adoration

**a/n: **Thanks to ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction. He was the first to propose this idea, and I decided to run with it. Give this guy some applause, he offered so many great ideas! I hope you guys enjoy this one!

"Blah… blah, blah… blah, blah, _blah, _blah…"

The day was sweltering, the hottest twenty-four hours Oregon had seen since 1945, and, as the minutes hummed maddeningly on, the weather began to take its toll on both the citizens and tourists. Wendy had taken to mocking Stanford Pines behind his back as he preached nonsense to a nodding throng of perspiration-browed sightseers. Apparently, the old hag had neglected to install a proper air conditioner, which meant an agonizingly humid environment. The redhead waited impatiently for the tour to move on; once they were out of sight, she would plunge her hand into the ice box and uncover the largest bubblegum pop for sale. Maybe even slide some cubes down her back, relishing the icy fingers on her blistering skin…

Life was unfair. Wendy picked up a nearby pamphlet and began to fan herself, hoping to circulate the stuffy air. If the guys had been around, it wouldn't have been so excruciating, but the twins had embarked on a journey to the lake after breakfast. She envied them immensely, but required her paycheck to fund her vacation to Florida and couldn't skip work today. Stupid work… stupid Stan… stupid universe…

"Blah… blah, _blah, blah…"_

_Ding! _The door swung wide open, almost knocking the bell hung above it off its screws. The twins sprinted inside, blasting one another with plastic water guns and sliding precariously across the floor. Thankfully, they avoided contact with the group Stan was currently leading into another area of the shack. "Hit me, dorks."

Mabel didn't even hesitate; she aimed her device at Wendy and let loose an arc of heaven that plastered her curls to her freckled cheeks. "My _God… _this is the best freakin' thing in the world. God bless you and your family and your children…" She allowed her upper-body to go completely limp, slinging herself wearily over the countertop as water beaded down her cheeks. "You wouldn't believe how hot it is in here. I could cook an omelet on the floor."

As Wendy pushed herself upright, Dipper's eyes caught the girl's chest and averted his gaze so quickly, he was able to persuade himself that he hadn't seen anything. She was clad in a teal tank top that revealed a short channel in her sternum; the fabric clung to the gentle curves of her chest, making him both immensely uncomfortable and slightly giddy. Hoping to divert his attention from Wendy and her… um, body, Dipper turned to Mabel, scarcely parrying the discharge of water that she unleashed. "Rock, paper, scissors says who gets to shower first."

"You're on!" Wendy watched, incredibly amused, as they faced one another with the competitive severity of wrestling rivalries. Their hands shot out, forming fists and quivering with anticipation. "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot! Aw!" Her pitiful pair of scissors were defeated by an epic mass of stone, crushed into oblivion and shaming generations to come.

"Yeah!" Dipper grabbed his bag and was seconds away from sprinting up the stairs that would lead to their bedroom when a farewell burst from his throat. "Later, Wendy!" As usual, his voice ascended an octave or two, voice cracking as it reached a ridiculously high pitch. Humiliated, the twelve-year-old boy scurried out of sight, leaving the girls to share a laughing fit.

After wiping the tears from her emerald eyes though, Wendy noticed that Mabel was rubbing her arm uncomfortably, a habit she had discerned in both twins. It was an unconscious gesture that typically preceded a rather personal query. "Wendy, can I tell you something?" She smirked sympathetically and patted the stool placed adjacent to the countertop.

"Tell me all about it, buddy." The brunette tightened the belt of her lavender tunic and climbed up onto the seat, chewing anxiously on an already damp curl. Ever since requesting advice about her relationship with Gideon, Mabel had started to visit her whenever a situation pertaining to feminine issues presented itself. Wendy was more than pleased to answer her questions, considering she was the only female authority figure in her current life.

"Well, we were at the lake today… and I-I noticed something," Mabel began shyly, evading eye contact with the older girl. A list of possibilities reeled through Wendy's mind: a bikini line, other girls wearing more revealing swimsuits. "I-I think I'm in love with someone I'm not supposed to be…"

"Oh! Okay, dude, that's totally normal." She offered the tense brunette a disarming smile, which relaxed her rigid posture almost immediately. "That happens all the time. Last year, I was all about this guy, but he was dating my friend, Tambry. It sucks a lot, but, eventually, you end up getting over it. Why can't you be in love with this guy?"

"'Cause it'd be really weird if I told him, because I think he likes another girl. Plus… you know him. And, I don't know, it just feels really weird, like I'd be taking him away from the girl he likes if I said anything." She toyed anxiously with a loose thread on the hem of her tunic, terrified that Wendy might further interrogate her about the anonymous boy she was mentioning.

"I know him? Somethin' tells me I'm not gonna hear much more about your secret lover. Don't worry, kid. If you just tell him about how you feel, you might find out that he likes you too. It's up to him to choose the girl he wants to be with. You're a totally awesome girl: he'd be crazy not to say that he likes you. And if he chooses someone else, don't worry. There's, like, a hundred other guys in Gravity Falls. Not _all _of them are total jerks." Wendy playfully swatted her shoulder, waiting until a hesitant grin graced Mabel's eternally flushed visage.

"Thanks, Wendy. Maybe I'll tell him… I am pretty irresistible." They exchanged a fist bump, and Mabel leapt from her perch, spilling the contents of her sequin-encrusted tote bag. Wendy collected a tube of sunscreen, a cherry headband, two empty sandwich bags, and a photograph of…

"Hey, dude, who took this picture?" The redhead scarcely had the opportunity to examine the picture, for Mabel snatched it out of her hands, stuffing it into the pack. She dashed towards the stairwell, leaving Wendy to blink dumbly at the space where the young girl had been standing. For a moment, she hadn't the slightest as to what could have caused her odd exit. The apprehension struck her like a concrete wall, knocking every wisp of oxygen from her lungs.

_It had been a photograph of her with Dipper._

::::::

"Oh, this is bad. This is really bad…"

All the sixteen-year-old girl was capable of doing was pacing and murmuring dark comments about her current situation. Her thirteen-year-old cousin, Caitlin, who had come to Gravity Falls for a week-long visit, watched her from the unmade bed, utterly fascinated. Her black curls, still damp from her afternoon at the lake, were wrapped up in a towel and she toyed with her camera as Wendy continued to erode a rut through her floor.

"If you're going to keep talking about how bad _this_ is, I think you should tell me what _it _is," Caitlin spoke up, adjusting the brightness scale on her precious device. Wendy finally ground to a halt, heat flaring up beneath the soles of her feet as minor cramps began to surge through the muscles. When she had arrived back home, wide-eyed and unresponsive, Caitlin hadn't pried, but this was downright odd. She knew her cousin to be mellow, always calm, and pacing just didn't fit that description.

"I guess you're right… eh, it's just so _weird! _The guy I work for has a great-niece-and-nephew, a pair of twins. They're pretty cool for kids, and the girl came up to me today and said that she's in love with someone she shouldn't be. We talked for awhile, and when she left, a picture of her and her brother fell out of her bag. When I asked about it, she got all embarrassed and ran out of the room. _She's in love with her twin brother, Caitlin!" _

At this point, Wendy had seized her younger relative's shoulders and was shaking her frenetically. Caitlin, dazed, reached out blindly to grip the teenager's forearms, hoping she might be able to calm the redhead down. "M-maybe it was just a mistake. A misunderstanding. She could have been talking about someone else," she suggested softly, a slight lisp elongating every "s" by a second.

"I don't know, everything seemed to be pointing to… _that. _It's just… ugh! What if they're really in love with each other?" Wendy exclaimed, sounding both terrified and baffled. "Or… oh, God, what if he doesn't love her back? That would be a nightmare to deal with. AH! I don't know what to do! I've never even… how-how do you even deal with a situation like this?"

"Well, I, uh, I don't really know these guys… but, um, I guess the best way to deal with this is just talk to her. Find out if this is really how she feels. Don't pressure her into hiding her feelings, though. Chris's dad is a therapist, and he told me about how bad it is to not talk about something that's bothering you." As per usual, Caitlin's eyes alit at the mention of the boy she had met mere hours after entering Gravity Falls, who she had quickly befriended.

"I guess you're right, Caitlin. Still… I don't know, I just thought I knew her better. She's always looking for boys, I didn't think she'd think that her _brother _was the perfect guy for her. I-I don't hold anything against her… but I thought I knew her better!" Unconsciously, Wendy began to pace again, her boots shedding a thin layer of latex. "I guess you could say I'm pretty freaked out."

"Really? I couldn't tell," she replied dryly, unbuckling the clasp holding her camera around her neck. The strap had endured much today, from being shoved into her tote bag to a stranger accidentally running past her and getting caught in it. Oh, well. The boy who had done so apologized profusely and even offered to repair any damages done to it. "Don't worry Wendy, I'm sure everything will turn out fine."

"I sure hope so kid, 'cause I'm not gonna stick around for when things _really _get out of hand."

::::::

"Okay, Mabel? Mabel?"

"Yeah, what- -"

"We need… we need to have a talk."

The twelve-year-old girl, seated comfortably on the countertop, glanced up from her glitter-spackled notebook. Wendy, her expression as grave as a tombstone, closed the register and yanked at a scarlet curl. Her hair wasn't in stellar condition today, considering Caitlin had accidentally exchanged their shampoos- - _again. _Raven Beauty was _not _as helpful as her typical Luscious Redhead.

"What's going on, Wendy?" Mabel asked nonchalantly, no idea what was causing the redhead to blanch and speak so severely. Ever since their discussion yesterday, she had been avoiding her like the plague, which hadn't alarmed Mabel. She _had _acted rather rashly in front of her: Mabel didn't blame her for treating her a bit oddly.

"Um, I wanted to talk to you about… the guy you can't love," Wendy said stiffly, just as the image of Dipper, discreetly lusting after other girls while Mabel watched from the sidelines, surfaced in her mind. Her teeth clenched and she attempted to banish all prejudiced thoughts against the girl out of her mind. Mabel noticeably brightened, noontime sunlight glinting off her braces as she smiled and began to jump up and down on the stool.

"Thanks for the advice! I talked to him and he told me that even though he likes another girl, he thinks I'm awesome and he wants to stay my friend! And the girl he likes wants to be my friend, too! At first, I was kind of sad, but it's okay. Me and him will always be really close, anyway." While the brunette absolutely beamed with exuberance, Wendy felt her heart plummet out of her body and through several layers of mineral. Apparently, Dipper had rejected her gently, which hadn't quite gotten through to Mabel.

"Um, that's kinda what I wanted to talk about," she uttered, struggling to keep her voice level. Almost immediately, Mabel halted in her gleeful bouncing and her radiant smile faltered.

"Why? Did he tell you that he didn't _really _like me? Or that she didn't actually want to be my friend?" she implored, sounding both disappointed and somewhat frightened. In spite of her franticness, Wendy discovered her heart, or, at least where it had been located before it jumped out of her body, broke in half. She absolutely hated to see her so distressed.

"Er, no. No, that's not it. Um, it's about the guy… um, Mabel, do you know what… _incest _is?" The young girl shook her head, still gazing up at Wendy with those innocent eyes. _Actually, I guess I should call this twincest, _the redhead thought humorlessly. "No? Um, well, it's what you call a boy and girl who are in love with each other… but are also brother and sister."

Mabel tilted her head at Wendy, wondering what she was trying to elucidate. "Okay… what's that got to do anything?"

Wendy swallowed around a dry lump in her throat, wishing the brunette would collapse under the pressure and admit it, saving her the pressure of further prying. "Well, uh, I-I… it's okay to tell me, Mabel. If you want, I won't tell anybody about it, not even Dipper. You just need to tell somebody, and get it off your chest."

Still baffled, especially at the mention of her brother, Mabel pinned her elbows on the countertop, grabbed the teenager's hands, and met her eyes. "Wendy! What are you talking about? Are we still talking about the guy I like, or did I start daydreaming and now we're having another conversation?"

"I know you're in love with your brother, Mabel!" The exclamation burst from her without any approval from her brain, and hung heavily in the air between them like a plume of smoke. Wendy, still silently cursing at herself, expected her to wilt and eventually burst into tears. Instead, Mabel's expression contorted into one of horror; she pulled away from Wendy, jaw slackening.

_"What are you talking about? I'm not in love with my brother!" _she shrieked, shrill voice ricocheting off the cracked walls of the Mystery Shack's interior. Wendy could truly feel the color leave her freckled cheeks, draining from her visage like tepid water from a bathtub. In the back of her mind, a voice whispered that she had made a horrible mistake. "That's not what I was talking about at all, Wendy!"

"Then-then who were you talking about… the past two days?" the teenager sputtered desperately, goose bumps rippling down the exposed flesh of her arms, despite the heat.

"I was talking about Chris Hall! I met him at the lake yesterday, but he was going to ask out your cousin, Caitlin! I was kind of upset, but after I talked to him, they both understood and said they would be my friend! HOW DID YOU GET ME LOVING DIPPER FROM THAT?" Mabel leapt off of her stool, shaking her arms sporadically. The sleeves of her aquamarine sweater, the center beholding two dolphins that formed a circle, flopped around her thin wrists.

"I-I saw the picture… you freaked out when you saw the picture." Beads of sweat welled up beneath her lumberjack hat, sliding down her temples. "Oh, God… oh, God, I'm so wrong, aren't I? Oh, God, I'm going to jail…"

"I was nervous when you saw that picture because Chris took it. He had borrowed Caitlin's camera and I kept it because Chris took it! I thought you already knew that, and I got nervous that you'd find out and be mad!" The petite girl covered her eyes with the enormous sleeves of her sweater, unable to process this. "Ahh… why would you even think that?"

Wendy, prepared to stammer out yet another answer, silenced and rubbed the back of her neck. "I-I guess it's just because… you know, you guys are so close, and I just thought… well, it kind of made sense to me. Yeah, I'm sorry about how weird I was. Ugh, I am not gonna make a good therapist."

Mabel relaxed slightly as the redhead talked herself out of the entire idea, and approached the counter again. "It's okay, I forgive you. It's just important that Dipper never finds out you thought I loved him." They both laughed, the drama of their conversation soon forgotten and replaced by the hilarity behind it.

::::::

Somewhere behind the Mystery Shack, a small group of teenaged girls were crowded around a small fob. They were all giggling merrily and were clad in cyan T-shirts that branded a single word on the back: Pinecest. One member, presumably a leader, judging by the pine tree insignia on her shirt's front, scooped up the fob. "Girls," she began, holding the little device for all to see, "the chip was planted yesterday. Victory will be ours by nightfall!"

They shared quite cheers, thrusting their fists into the air and hugging anybody nearby. The leader nodded with a grin, and drove her thumb into the center button, activating a device that had been implanted in half of their plan. She gestured for them to follow them into the forest, where they dashed off and laughed madly at their ingenious plot.

Dipper, who had been studying up on time travel, suddenly dropped his book. His eyes widened, but his pupils dilated, and, slowly, they took the form of hearts. He was under control. "Must… have… unexplainable love… for Mabel."

**a/n: **Oh, God. If you haven't noticed, this story is a parody of the many Pinecest stories out there. The ending was supposed to be a group of fan girls wanting the pairing so badly, they resorted to controlling Dipper. Anyway… I hope you enjoy this one. Next Time: Possible adaptation of a "Home Movies" episode. See y'all next time!


	8. Chapter 8: Traverse

Story Eight:

Traverse

**a/n: **Everybody go and find ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction and give him a hug, because he gave me EIGHT great story ideas! This one happens to a bit darker (okay, a lot darker) than the past two, but I hope you'll enjoy it all the same! This story contains Dipper/Mabel, but it isn't Pinecest. Also, try to disregard reality for a few minutes… enjoy!

It was snowing again.

As he bulleted down the road, his battered, but reliable, motorcycle gruffly serenading the night, he finally realized that it had snowed while he was working. At least an inch of the stuff had bonded with the pavement, and, judging by the roiling mass of tar-black clouds above him, more was due to come. The temperature wouldn't have been so terrible if it weren't for the wind chill factor, which could kill any living creature who wandered about in it without protection. One of his colleagues, possibly Heather, had insisted that he take her scarf. It billowed from his neck like a scarlet tentacle.

None of it mattered, though. Typically, his nighttime rides back to the building were filled with reflection and calm thoughts, but tonight, his mind was a live wire. They had found it. Finally, they found it. Now, his life could fall back into place. He would cleanse his soul of the horrible, fist-clenching guilt that had haunted him for the past nine years. He would have her back.

The twenty-three-year-old navigated the icy roads with unmatched skill, a scythe of moonlight glinting off his helmet. In the baskets hooked to the back of his vehicle, a wrapped parcel, filled with blueprints, was strapped in securely. Inside was the key to everything, including _her. _After decades of studying for the laboratory, he had stepped in, perhaps the most passionate scientist onboard, and then- - there it was, an answer.

_An answer, _Dipper Pines thought with giddy relief, _an answer._

::::::

His apartment was nothing impressive, especially compared to the glistening hilltop mansions most of the other scientists gloated about. The kitchen and living room were essentially one massive space, with the bedroom and bathroom narrowing into a dark corridor. He hadn't taken the time to decorate it, or even purchase a decent amount of furniture. There was no stove, nor excessive seating arrangements. His recliner was the only thing he needed.

Dipper kicked off his soaked rubbers, pausing a moment to confirm that they had flopped onto the mat. He had the parcel tucked protectively under his arm, and carefully placed it on the small table by the door. _Clink! _His keys and wallet went into the rhinestone dish, which seemed oddly out of place in the bland room.

Before attacking the package, he picked up his cell phone, silently cursing himself for leaving it on the sofa. Only two missed calls: one from his mother, probably the same tearful spiels and one from Wendy, who was in Florida for her brother's wedding. He deleted them both with a sigh. He would rather chop off his pinky finger than discuss "things" with his mother, and he wasn't in the mood to have a conversation with Wendy. Recently, she had been pushing him to visit a therapist, and they had had a nasty dispute on the night before she flew out of Maine.

Oh, well. These matters seemed so trivial compared to what would take place tomorrow morning. Enthusiasm reignited, Dipper retrieved the package and unwrapped it with the exuberance of a child tearing open his first gift on Christmas Day. Blueprints, like ocean waves, were layered over schematics and complicated equations that he often asked his colleagues to decipher.

"I never appreciated her," he said to nobody, thumbing through the thick heap of documents. Whenever he thought about her, things got… _fuzzy. _Colors blurred drunkenly, while sounds ricocheted wildly through his ears; his thoughts began to twist like vines, writhing, squirming. Losing a twin, he supposed, had deeply affected him in a way that no pill, no therapist, no word could ever touch. "Never appreciated her…"

Dipper traced the outline of the mechanism waiting in the laboratory, his prize, the invention that would easily earn him any career he desired. Hell, Heather had insisted he would receive scores of recognition and eventual praise in engineering journals. When she insisted this though, he had only nodded absently, stroking the metal frame of the device like a docile lapdog.

The memories came in bitter bursts, as painful as the spiking point of a severe migraine. The agony motivated him, pushed him further than anyone before him. Why did he succeed? Because he _wanted it. _Not for him, not for Wendy, not for those stuffy scientists. For her.

_Mabel._

The eliciting of her name was like the taste of forbidden fruit on his tongue. Some parts of her seemed so real, so _tangible, _he could feel her on his skin, inside of him, and she would wake him up at night, her presence a deep, vibrating resonation. God, he needed her. Oh, God, he needed her. He didn't appreciate her when they were young and now he _craved _her. There was no way he would survive any longer if he did not have his Mabel in his arms again.

Oh, God… here they come. Just thinking of Mabel turned on the movie, the flashback of the century. There was no way to blink it away, no way to block it from his mind… he had to watch and remember every second of that horrible day.

_An overcast sky foretold rain to the residents of an otherwise sunny state. He trudged beneath it, supposing a light drizzle would initiate any moment now and match his gloomy mood perfectly. His backpack, seeming to weigh thousands of pounds more than when he slung it over his shoulder this morning, was dragged listlessly along the concrete. As the breeze slowly became a gust, he clamped a hand over the bill of his signature cap, which he never left home without._

_Fourteen-years-old and still a punching bag. Terrific. What have you learned? Normal teenagers don't read about the Loch Ness Monster and keep a broken amulet in their pocket (just in case). That's right. You act like a freak, you get treated like a freak. At least your sister isn't any more normal. But does she help you at all? Of course not. She still thinks sparkly vampires exist. Explain that to the kids back at school._

_She was skipping idly alongside him, taking care to bound over cracks in the rain-dotted concrete. As usual, she was prattling on about something or other, rave punctuated with high-pitched exclamations about whatever they happened to pass: the cow-shaped mailbox, a turtle in the road, children playing kickball at the neighborhood park. Ordinarily, he tolerated her constant comments, occasionally joined her, but today, he just couldn't _stand _her. _

_Thunder rattled its bones nearby, in response to the lightning's quick tongue. Within a few minutes, they were both drenched, but she took it in stride and began to dance, her chocolate curls bouncing with every step. He shivered, feeling absolutely miserable. It just didn't seem fair that, despite the fact they were equally odd, he had to be the one burdened with worry and fear and paranoia. Did he dance in the rain? No. God, he was in too much pain to dance._

_A fork of electricity speared the ominous sky, casting an eerie glow across her face. She tripped in the center of an intricate twirl, and came crashing down on top of him. He fell hard, chin bouncing on the pavement and teeth sinking into the spongy flesh of his tongue, drawing forth metallic blood. "Oops, I guess that's a strike!"_

_"Get off of me, Mabel," he replied bitterly, squirming beneath his sister's weight. A thin, crimson strand trickled from the corner of his mouth. Mabel offered him her hand, which he brushed aside in blind anger. A dull rumbling filled the sky: he could sense the vibrations through the cement, where he lay on his hands and knees._

_"Hey, I'm sorry, Dipper, it was an accident," she apologized, finally regarding her brother's moodiness. He had been late out of school… those dumb jerks might have roughed him up a little and upset him. Dipper had the back of his hand pressed against his mouth, conflicting emotions vying for his attention. She was studying him gravely, her jade eyes wide and piteous. "Did those guys mess with you again?"_

_Rage won. "Yeah Mabel, they did. And you weren't much help." Immediately, he could perceive that his statement had struck a nerve, or at least registered._

_"What's that supposed to mean?" Mabel asked defensively. How could she be so naïve? Couldn't she tell that they were the laughing stock of Garden Valley High? It was terrible enough that he was strange, supernatural-obsessed, not to mention a somewhat wimpy guy, but she had to… she just had to be so weird! Sometimes, it was unique, and, as children, he had adored it, but now… things were different. _

_"Oh, come on, Mabel. It's so obvious. We're different! We're weird, and things wouldn't be so bad if you didn't go around asking people about glitter and vampires and magic. We're fourteen, Mabel! Come on… you should know that it's weird to talk about stuff like that. I don't get pushed around just because I read a couple of books about monsters. I get pushed around because you're a freak!"_

_He was going too far, and he knew it. The shock and hurt, albeit belated, reached her, mangling her previously jovial expression into one of disbelief. Her arms disappeared from her sweater sleeves and wrapped around her torso, an alternative to Sweater Town. All the raw fury, the high school drama crap, it drained from him as quickly as tepid water from a bathtub. He had wounded Mabel, and he was going to have to make it up to her, he didn't know how, and- -_

_Oh, God._

_The immense heat from the lightning strike was ascertainable from a distance of at least twenty-five yards. The shot connected with a nearby tree, instantly charring it and baking the wood like cookies in an oven. As the mighty oak began to topple, Dipper realized, with morbid fascination, that they had played around the immense growth for years. Swinging from the branches, chasing one another around the trunk… _

_The silhouette blotted out his vision like the eclipse of some foreign planet, slowly obscuring the feeble luminosity of the peacock gray sky. Branches stretched towards him, tentacles growing from a Lovecraftian horror, the sky falling in, and here it comes, he'll die right here, right now, with blood in his mouth and homework in his pack and no there goes his cap and…_

_He flew backwards at an astonishing rate; if anybody had witnessed the freeze-frame moment, they would have stopped and stared. But, they wouldn't stayed amazed for long, because in these seconds, when the Earth abruptly halted progress around its axis, Mabel Catherine Pines died._

_Wheezing frenetically, a sharp blade slicing through his side, Dipper pushed himself off of the sidewalk. He swiped his soaked bangs away, searching for Mabel, who was probably on the outskirts of Sweater Town and crying at the impression of either of them dying. Yes, there were her curls, spread across the- -_

_She was cradled in the masses of rotted limbs, one hand curled by her cheek and blood pooling beneath her gray sweater. Oh, God. No no no no no. God tried to strike me down and she got in the way. Still on his knees, Dipper crawled towards his sister, his beautiful sister. Oh, God, he _murdered _her. "Come on Mabel, come on. It's okay, just get up, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say all those things, just get up, I need to tell you something. I'm sorry. It's okay, just get up."_

_A hysterical laugh burst from his throat before it became a grief-sick wail. She was wearing her gray sweater with the black lightning bolt._

Tears blotched the industrial paper in his hands, which were trembling so violently, he had to set the blueprints down before they could be damaged. Nine years. Nine years of waking up, alone and weeping, in an empty bedroom, while thunder rattled his windows and someone knocked on the door. As much as he wished she was haunting him, he was excruciatingly aware that she would never attempt to frighten him so badly. She was not livid, or even vengeful. He imagined, chest heaving with sobs, that she was as miserable as he had been on the day of her death.

His cell phone began to ring; he reached out impulsively, flipping it open and checking the caller ID. Wendy. No way. He waited until the sounds faded and the screen dimmed, but before he could toss it aside and continue to mull over his tragedy, a text message appeared. Wendy was adamant. _If you won't answer my calls, I'll just say this. I know what today is. And I wish I was there to help you. Love you, Wendy._

By that point, things were so blurry, the ceiling was like an overcast sky and the figure by the rhinestone bowl looked a lot like a certain girl. She knew today was the very day every one of her bones had been shattered.

Instead of placing his head in his hands and bawling, Dipper repacked the documents he had been examining. Another trip through the snow wouldn't hurt.

::::::

Crossed Wires was one of the most efficient laboratories in the country, as well as innovative and sterile. He had been working there for over a year: in those months, the company had steadily risen from the bone-dry ashes of failed projects into the dazzling limelight of the science community. Heather, a vivacious little college girl, constantly reminded him that he was their saving grace.

Goose bumps rippled down his arms as he shed his winter coat. Dipper dug the building's key out of his pocket, his fingers quivering and skin taking on a waxy appearance. The early stages of hypothermia. He trotted into the lobby, stamping his boots against the tiles. God, Maine was cold in the winter. After spending over half of his life in California, sunny California, Maine was the freakin' pinnacle of everything arctic and icy.

It didn't matter, though. Dipper worked his way through the dimly-lit corridors, digging his fingernails into the strap of his messenger bag. On his first day, he had wandered through the labyrinthine depths of Crossed Wires, awed and amazed. The dark-haired man descended a stairwell, keeping his eyes forward: if he wasn't careful, Mabel would wander into the edge of his vision. He didn't want her to know, just yet.

The only door on the short hallway was the holder of universe, concealing an unfathomable secret that scientists all over the world would bludgeon one another to death to possess. A keypad was wired into the handle; the keys were regularly replaced so nobody could ever figure out the code by inspecting the numbers printed on each little button. After gaining seniority, Dipper had been elected to pick a code. His fingertips sang it like an old pastor belts out the same old hymn every Sunday. _41789. _Their birthday.

It was a relatively small room, not to mention untidy and cluttered with metal components. The device sat in the center like an offering to a god, isolated by a beam of luminosity that highlighted the steel frame. A portal. Within a year, he, Dipper Pines, had perfected traversing dimensions. No trials had been hosted yet, but everybody agreed that the chances of it succeeding were sky-high.

He approached the invention with the sort of smile a clinically depressed person uses to deceive his family into thinking he's fine. Everything he ever _wanted, _it was here, under a holy spotlight. On the opposite side of the circular casing, his Mabel waited, the Mabel from the world where they never walked under an oak tree.

Today was the day he had been waiting for since February eighteenth. Dipper stroked the button-dotted panel, fingering the throttle that engaged the machine. Without giving the action any clear though, he retrieved the fob that controlled travel through dimensions and pocketed it. He couldn't wait until tomorrow, where he would be crowded by co-workers and members of the board and colleagues, and even if he reached Mabel, it wouldn't be the intimate, soul-cleansing moment he had strived for. It was Mabel, Mabel, Mabel, Mabel times infinity, Mabel, Mabel…

He flipped the switch.

A dazzling radiance, the color of faded limes, was emanated from the center of the ring, quickly pulsing outwards and consuming everything nearby. Dipper stepped towards it, absolutely enticed by the warm glow, which reminded him discreetly of the way daybreak caused Mabel's jade eyes to glimmer. He hooked one hand around the frame, a strange tingling seizing his legs and numbing them like the first step into a chilly lake.

"Here I come, Mabel."

Grinning, his chocolate bangs swept away from his forehead, Dipper launched himself into the blistering bliss of the past.

::::::

Twelve-year-old Mabel Pines swung idly from a tree bough, her small hands clutching the bark growth and her Mary Janes lightly scraping the soil below. It was a beautiful day in Gravity Falls: the sky was a lovely shade of cerulean, birds chirped melodically, no dangerous creatures were in sight. She had dodged an assignment at the Mystery Shack, and decided to spend her free time in the patches of forest just outside her summertime home.

The brunette dropped to the ground, brushing splinters from her hands. Before she could sprint off in search of another tree to climb, a faint, spherical light materialized in the neck of the woods. Enchanted by its luminescent beauty, Mabel approached it with her natural curiosity and stretched her arm out to touch it.

The buoyant point suddenly erupted, becoming a swirling vortex of emerald light. A brisk draft was emitted from the void, thrusting her backwards into the trunk and temporarily disorienting her. Mabel scrubbed her dust-clogged eyes, the back of her head throbbing dully; she massaged it with a soft moan. After her vision trebled, then doubled, Mabel glanced back at the area where the gentle orb had originated and found her jaw slackening.

A tall, gangly man with a head of dark, ruffled hair was sprawled across the grass, a tiny appliance clamped to his hand. He wore a navy fatigue jacket, blue jeans, and black rubbers, despite the fact it was pushing ninety-five in Gravity Falls. Mabel heaved herself to her feet, observing the stranger with escalating fascination; he strongly resembled her brother. "Hi there! My name's Mabel, what's yours?"

Dipper utilized an elbow to prop himself back up, one hand cradling a wounded cheek. Oh, God, he almost forgot how beautiful she was. The mid-morning sunlight emphasized the copper streaks in her mane, the flecks of gold in her irises, the tender curves of her face. "H-Hey, Mabel," he said quietly, voice reaching a ridiculous pitch, "it's me. Dipper."

"What?" She reared back from the anonymous man's touch, frightened by both his similitude to her twin sibling and his insistence that this was true. "No… um, no. _My _Dipper is in the attic, because he went after a mutated piranha and got a cold. I-I don't know who _you _are…"

_She doesn't believe me. Come on, you knew this would happen. God, is she amazing. She can't… she can't die. You can't let her get away from you again. She's your sister and you won't let her get away from you. _"You don't understand. I'm your brother, eleven years from now." With a condoling smile, Dipper took Mabel's hand, relishing the satiny surface of her palm. While running his thumb in small circles over her fingers, he slid the other into his pocket, where the fob rested. "And you're coming with me. I'm not gonna lose you again."

Mabel gasped as another beam was incited nearby, meeting the man's eyes. "No… you're not my brother. You can't be my brother… he's up there and-and you can't be him. You're not- - oh, my gosh." Tears escaped their lidded confines as the young man lifted his bangs with a sunken grin. The locks obscured a birthmark that strongly resembled the Big Dipper. "Wait, I don't want to go!"

"I can't lose you again!" he exclaimed, toes buzzing before falling entirely numb. Dipper gingerly tucked his sister under his arm, supporting her light frame effortlessly as he lurched forward and fell into the warm, electric arms of his portal. With the remote in hand, he could send them back to his world, where she had died horribly. As their molecules were disassembled, he leaned down and kissed her crown.

A picture window overlooked the clearing looping the Mystery Shack, located in the attic. Twelve-year-old Dipper Pines had his hands pressed against the faceted prisms, his scarlet-rimmed eyes wide as dollar bills. Whatever had fallen out of the portal had kidnapped Mabel…

…and looked exactly like him.

::::::

Within seconds, they landed in the cold, unforgiving embrace of the linoleum tiles. Ribs smarting, Dipper lay still for a moment, stroking Mabel's curls with a gentle hand. She was panting, clinging to the man's jacket, and still uncertain about his insistence that he was, in fact, her brother from the future. As much as her open mind wished to accept the fact, she couldn't believe he would abduct her, unless it was for a reason. He was almost always right.

Mabel clambered off of him, sliding precariously across the snow-soaked floor. Watching Dipper rise was like a tower being erected; she was aware that she was more petite than other girls, and Wendy alone had a good three foot advantage, but it was like comparing a blue whale to a trout. "Whoa… you get _really _tall in the future," she commented absently, craning her neck to get a good view of his visage.

"We were pretty short back then," he replied, going to the panel and deactivating the dimension portal. "When we hit eighth grade though, you get much taller." Mabel glanced around the space, dazzled by the array of machine components and drafts pinned to the blank walls.

The brunette lifted up a bundle of scarlet wires that had frayed edges, flaunting them dangerously close to an electrical outlet. "Whoa, all this stuff is really shiny, and- - wait a minute! You kidnapped me!" Angry, Mabel seized the nearest weapon- a small box of nails - and hurled it at Dipper. Struck square in the chest, he stumbled backwards slightly, rubbing the blossoming bruise on his sternum with a quiet groan.

"Ow, Mabel! Dam- - I mean, dang… you were always freakishly strong. Ow… listen, I know I took you, but-but… I need to tell you something. No… I can't tell you now, you're so happy. Let me say… something happens in this dimension that doesn't in yours. And it changes my life. And yours." Dipper knelt down to cup her chin, and he saw the comprehension in her eyes like a flicker of candlelight in a darkly-lit room. "I want to take you to my house so we can talk about this."

"But, I-I don't want to leave my world! That's where my _real _family is! And my _real _brother! And if this _really _another dimension where you're older, then where am I?" Mabel demanded, struggling under the dark-haired man's hand. Sure, she had seen the impossible in Gravity Falls, but the proposal of traveling dimensions… why would he come and retrieve her? Why not her brother or… well, it just didn't make sense! And he couldn't be Dipper, not him. Not this weird guy.

"Because… in this dimension, you died when we were fourteen. We were fighting and lightning struck a tree, and you pushed me out of the way. I can't live this way, because today is the day you died! I can't lose you, Mabel. I didn't appreciate you when we were kids, and then I lost you. All I wanted was a second chance to get you, and I finally have it!" He picked up the tween with ease, disregarding her frightened gasp and raking his fingers through her silky curls. Her hair was amazing. "I love you, Mabel. I can't live this way anymore."

"I-I… die?" She wriggled in his arms, but Dipper refused to release the young, innocent version of his sister. There were no more words to be uttered. The very idea of death, a strange, warped ending to a movie she was positive concluded with a sunny sky, was foreign, terrifying. Mabel absolutely loved her brother, regarded him as the holder of the universe, and if he… he was ever in peril, she would willingly rescue him. No matter what the consequence was. "What do you mean you didn't appreciate me?"

"After that summer in Gravity Falls, we started fighting. All the time. You were the weird girl in school and, sometimes, I got pushed around because of that. I didn't appreciate you, for all the things you did for me. All I want… all I need… is for you to be with me. Just one last time." Dipper gestured to the machine that had brought her into his dimension, tapping the frame lightly. "I spent a year building this. Not for me. For you. So I could see you again."

Mabel gazed at it vacantly, suddenly chilled by the amount of information she had taken in. She absolutely despised the idea of them fighting, especially when it led to their demise. And yet… beneath the surface, scarred and pitted by nine years of terror, this man was still Dipper. The boy who would never give up and, as she previously thought, would go to the edge of the universe to save her. Just as she would for him.

Before she could further interrogate him, or maybe even turn her back and run, a thin thread of crimson trickled from her left nostril. Surprised, Mabel swiped at her nose, her hand coming away with a broad streak of scarlet. She gasped and glanced at Dipper for assistance. He grabbed the messenger bag, still filled with schematics, and pressed her against his chest. "Mabel, there's something I need to tell you. We're going outside. I have a spare helmet."

"Helmet?"

::::::

For the second instance that night, Dipper entered his apartment and kicked his rubbers off. This time, however, Mabel was nestled in the crook of his elbow, her hair tangled wildly from the combined force of a gusty snowstorm and forty-five miles per hour on a motorcycle. Her nose bled incessantly, a steady dribble that had dotted the front of her violet sweater, not to mention soaked her sleeve. As much as she desired to jump out of his arms and demand to be sent home, Mabel was exhausted and freezing, and didn't battle him when he set her gently on the recliner.

"Man, I _really _screwed up on this one," Dipper murmured spitefully, unbuttoning the pack and emptying out its contents. What appeared to be hundreds of documents fluttered to the dingy carpet, one drifting onto Mabel's lap. Sleeve pressed against her stinging nose, she examined the schematic and was immediately boggled by the amount of data. Her brother, still the _real _Dipper to her, was always a steady performer in math, but nothing like this.

"Is this written in another language?" she asked, holding the paper sideways to ensure she wasn't reading it the wrong way. "'Cause I don't think… what's pragmatic mean?"

"Typically referring to an event occurring in the history. It also can be associated with the philosophy of practical characteristics." The answer rolled off his tongue the way a foreign language comes from the mouth of an interpreter. Mabel, having no idea what more than half of those words meant, tossed the blueprint aside, and proceeded to rock in the recliner. "Aw, damn, I knew there was something I forgot. Dammit, dammit, dammit!"

He realized, too late, that he was in the presence of a tween, who gazed at him with a slack jaw. "Sorry, sorry, I got a little carried away. Um, I don't know how to tell you this, Mabel…"

"It can't be any worse than me dying in this dimension," she interrupted with a sigh, resting her chin on a weary hand. Dipper chuckled uneasily, rubbing the back of his neck; the gesture caught Mabel's attention, for she recognized it as a nervous habit of his whenever he had to deliver bad news.

"Um, that depends. Mabel, I know you don't like science, but it's important that you listen. When I took you from your dimension- - "

"I'm still mad."

"- - yeah, I know, Mabel. Anyway, when we left the dimension where you lived, our molecules were separated and then reassembled when we got back here. The problem is… well, you aren't gonna survive long in this dimension. Your molecules didn't reassemble properly, so your body will slowly deteriorate." The brunette drew back, absolutely horrified, and then gradually shifted her gaze to the spatters of maroon on the furniture's arm. It wasn't an ordinary nosebleed.

"So… you kidnap me because you didn't appreciate me when we were kids, you tell me that I died in this dimension, and now… oh, this is great, I'm gonna fall apart. Thanks, that was a dumb idea." She yanked her violet sweater over her head, revealing a fuchsia shirt. "Why am I even staying here? Take me home!"

"But… Mabel, this is the only chance I ever have of seeing you again. I spent nine years waiting for this day. I just…" Once again, he managed to strike a chord with her and she felt a massive swell of guilt in her chest. This was her brother she was contending to, the brother she had rescued from imminent death in a parallel world. And she was obliterating his only dream. But… if she lingered here, she would eventually disintegrate until she was little more than an empty, blood-stained sweater. And then she'd be dead in both dimensions.

"I'm sorry. I know you missed me and I really love you. If what you said was true, then I'm glad I saved you." Mabel extended her hand, tenderly gripping the damp fabric of his fatigue jacket. "But, Dipper, if I stay here longer, I'll… det-deter… I'll fall apart. And then I'd be dead in both dimensions. I don't want _my _Dipper to turn into… you."

He stiffened, struggling to wrap his mind around the simple, yet somehow intricate, notion. It wasn't right, he apprehended, to steal Mabel from his younger self, and hoard her as his own for perhaps a day or so. He had seen her, he had talked to her… now, it was time to let go. What was the phrase? Keep moving forward. "Mabel, I… I should've listened to you before. I want you to be happy, and I guess this hasn't been your best day. Let me take you back home."

Mabel was surprised by how easily he had been swayed, especially considering the obstinacy he had displayed earlier. After all the years of pain and misery… he was willing to let her go. She pictured the poster of a girl and her dog running through a meadow, captioned with the phrase: "If you love something, let it go". Suddenly overwhelmed with compassion for her brother, Mabel leapt off the recliner and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Jolted, but delighted by her familiar enthusiasm, Dipper held his young sister to his chest and inhaled deeply. Despite the snow, motorcycle ride, and blood, her scent, bubblegum with a dash of tropical shampoo, lingered. Before he could set her down though, the words reached his eardrum, seeming to freeze everything around them.

"I love you."

::::::

Wendy Jackson, navigating the unimaginably thick crowds of the airport, sighed in frustration as her cell phone rang. The twenty-six-year-old took a seat on a nearby chair, releasing the handle of her tangerine suitcase and digging the device out of her purse. Expecting her brother, or maybe Kathy from relations, the redhead was shocked to read the contact onscreen: _Dipper Pines. _She flipped the device open, plugging the other ear with one hand to block out the white noise. "Dipper? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me." His voice was distant, as if she was on speaker phone, but there was a distinct crack to it. Concerned, Wendy pressed the cell phone deeper into her visage, straining to catch even a thread of other noises on the line. Someone else was speaking and they sounded suspiciously like Mabel when she visited Gravity Falls. He was probably watching home videos… "I just called to tell you that I love you."

Wendy sputtered unintelligibly for a moment, unable to contrive a proper response to the blatant statement. They had been living in Maine for the past few years, buried in work and getting coffee every Saturday night. Believing he had forgotten his childhood crush on her, Wendy was assured that they had established an iron-strong friendship. "Dude… I-I…"

"I'm just saying this because I'm probably not going to be calling you anytime soon. Unless, of course, something changes everything. So, I called to say that… I love you." A burst of static interrupted their conversation, bestowing Wendy with a free moment to ponder what Dipper was attempting to do. Was he committing suicide? Was this the last time she would ever hear from him? Oh, God, was it because of Mabel? "Goodbye, Wendy."

"No! Don't do it, please, you know that I love you too and that you can always talk to me. Dipper? Don't you dare hang up, I swear to God, stay on the line and- - " With a timid click, the other line was silent and Wendy was alone. She jumped up, grabbed her suitcase, and powered through the airport, wondering how the hell she could dissuade him from doing whatever it is he planned to.

::::::

"Ow…"

Mabel peeled her face away from the grass below, relieved when the bleeding from her nose abated and then vanished. They had arrived back in the exact spot where he had initially kidnapped her- - no, he simply picked her up. It wasn't kidnapping… "I don't know how you keep doing that. It hurts."

"Aha!"

The brunette glanced up to follow the source of the exclamation. Her Dipper was standing over her, eyes fixated on the older version of himself and a branch in his hands. "You took my sister!" he shouted, raising the impromptu weapon over his head, prepared to slam into the man's forehead. Mabel dove forward, tackling him to the ground and prying the timber from his tightly-coiled fingers. "Mabel, what-what are you- - ?"

"Dipper, this is a friend of mine. He didn't kidnap me. Whatever you saw, it's just the fever. I'm not in any danger." She smiled disarmingly down at him, allayed to be back in her world, with her crazy, goofy brother. "You need to go back upstairs before Grunkle Stan sees you and thinks your better. See ya, Dipping Sauce."

"Wait!" The man leveled his gaze with his adolescent self's, wearing an expression of intense concentration. "Let me offer you a word of advice. If Wendy ever texts you and says 'I need you', get in your car and drive out to her. I don't care what you're doing, just do it. Oh, and bring breath spray. Good luck, kid, take good care of your sister."

"Bye! Have fun with your new invention!" Mabel waved cheerfully at him as he removed the remote from his pocket, opening up the portal they had traveled through moments before. Dipper paused, halfway through the swirling void, and felt the bittersweet burn of nostalgia on his heart. They were so happy, carefree, wandering through the fantastic paradise of Gravity Falls.

"Goodbye, Mabel."

He leapt into the traversing vortex, hand still clamped over the small mechanisms. Before he could take the straight route back to his laboratory, in cold, unforgiving Maine, Dipper pressed a button that sent him on a path slightly askew from the direct course. He grinned unconsciously, knowing he had seen his Mabel one last time, offered his younger self imperative advice, and confided unto Wendy that he truly loved her. His life was freed of its burdens.

An overcast sky foretold rain to the residents of an otherwise sunny state. Dipper landed, rather harshly, on the concrete, the plink of drizzle against the gutters and the strident groan of an enormous oak tree instantly filling his ears. His splotchy vision showed two thin figments on the horizon, one directly in the path of the toppling foliage. Strangely calm, he launched himself off of the pavement and sprinted towards them, arms outstretched like a superhero.

Fourteen-year-old Dipper Pines was shoved aside by an anonymous, gangly figure, who was then crushed by the swarming boughs of the mighty oak. Dazed, he watched the clouds cry, tears beading down his scraped visage and forming a tiny puddle around him. Who had… who had saved him? And where was Mabel?

The brunette was over him as if on cue, her eyes wide and glimmering with terror. "Oh, my gosh! Did you see that?"

"Um, yeah." He finally accepted her hand, allowing Mabel to haul him to his feet; aside from an ebbing pain in his chest that would appear later tonight, he was fine. The stranger was sprawled on the pavement, face a portrait of tranquility and eternal bliss. "Who-who was that?"

"I don't know, but he saved your life!" she exclaimed, embracing him gratefully. "I called 911 on my cell phone, and they'll be here pretty soon. I'm just really, really glad that he pushed you out of the way." Drops began to glide down her blushing cheeks, and, as Dipper laid his chin on her shoulder, he sensed the sobs shaking her petite body.

"Me too, Mabel. And I'm sorry for yelling at you." Together, swaying slightly in the sharp breeze, they held onto one another, failing to realize that the wind was fanning the man's bangs away from his brow and exposing a birthmark shaped like the Big Dipper.

**a/n: **This may be the longest thing I've ever written, and I'm not very proud of it. I'm really sorry, ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction, I tried my hardest to make your idea work, but I didn't… I didn't do a very good job. Treatment was especially difficult this week, and I just… I'm sorry about it. I tried my hardest.

On a lighter note, I really enjoyed Friday's episode. It truly had all the aspects of the show that makes it great. Plus, Tyrone was the best character ever.


	9. Chapter 9: Testament

Story Nine:

Testament

**a/n: **Here's another idea brought to you by ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction. Today's story will definitely be more light-hearted than last time's, and I really hope you enjoy this one, because I had fun writing it.

"Kids, we have something to tell you."

Dinnertime at the Pines residence was a veritable testament to good old-fashioned family values. Mother, Father, Sister, and Brother, gathered around the dinette and enjoying steaming dishes filled with decadent poultry, vegetables, and mashed potatoes. Of course, their conversations vastly differed from what might be heard of a fifties' family, but, in its own way, this was what knit them together to a point where they were able to suppress their urge to murder one another. The teenaged years were no picnic.

Jennifer Pines waited patiently for her two children to glance up from their plates, knowing it would be difficult to deliver such grave news. She hadn't been too broken up about it, considering she hadn't spent much time with him, but the twins had spent an entire summer with him. "Do you remember that summer you spent with your great-uncle in Gravity Falls?"

Whenever the subject was brought up, Jennifer noticed a certain glimmer in their eyes, as if they were holding a delightful secret about that summer. They had enjoyed themselves, but she believed something bigger than a happy time had occurred. "Well, something happened last week…"

Christopher Pines placed his strong hand over his wife's, picking up where she had trailed off. "Kids, your great-uncle Stan died on Monday. Apparently, he was… the letter said something about a crapalanche. I believe the person was trying to spell avalanche. Anyway, he was stacking boxes and the pile just collapsed."

Sixteen-year-old Dipper could scarcely comprehend the explanation. Sure, Grunkle Stan was practically an antique when they visited him, and death was imminent, but the man seemed so capable, easily outrunning anybody who had just realized they had been scammed and demanded a refund. The term "crapalanche" rendered the vision of the elderly man buried a load of his inventory, silently cursing the Stan inspired bobble heads and plastic eyeballs. "Oh, my God. Did he… is he having a funeral?"

"Um, no sweetie, his will asked that he be cremated and his ashes be tossed over the forest. My sister took care of that, but she sent me a letter from one of his workers and a copy of his last will and testament. I didn't want to open it until I could explain what happened to you two." Jennifer laid the envelope on the tabletop, offering her jaw-slackened children a grim smile. "I'm sorry, I knew you really loved that summer you spent with him."

"Will you excuse us?"

::::::

"This is bad."

Upon returning home in the autumn, exhilarated from the various creatures they had encountered in Gravity Falls, they had been given separate bedrooms. As Dipper paced the length of his own room, Mabel laying on his unmade bed, he realized how ill-advised the decision why. If the other hadn't been ordered out of sight, they often spent time with one another, no matter whose room it was. "I know it's bad, Mabel."

"What if the will's haunted?" The brunette rolled onto her side, scrutinizing the envelope that had been gingerly placed in the center of the room. Neither had dared to break the seal on their great-uncle's last will and testament, although they had reviewed the letter sent with it several times. Wendy had composed it, and, lost along rambling lines about being sorry and missing them, was the invitation: _Come back down to Gravity Falls._

"I seriously doubt that it's haunted," he retorted, despite the fact he wouldn't be surprised if Stan's spirit appeared when he opened the will. With a sigh, Dipper flung himself alongside Mabel, the twins staring blankly up at the ceiling. "You know, I was just thinking about the summer we spent in Gravity Falls last night."

"Same here. I looked through my scrapbook! We used to be so short," Mabel commented, poking her brother playfully on the cheek. He laughed absently, recalling the time before growth spurts struck them like meteorites and they shot up a good foot. In that time, Mabel's body had been softened with gentle curves, while Dipper had become taller and leaner, and had chest hair to spare. "And you _still _wear that hat. It must be a billion years old."

"Hey, I like it," he defended, clamping a hand over the bill of his favorite cap. The white front was dingy from years of wear, and it wasn't quite shaped the same anymore, but it brought back waves of memories. "And besides, I like remembering the summer. It was one of the greatest times of our lives."

"Even when Gideon tried to cut your tongue out?" Mabel teased, using her fore and middle finger to mimic a pair of scissors. "'This ain't the last you'll see of lil' ol' me,'" she imitated, her voice pitched exactly like the big-haired psycho.

"Thanks, Mabel. Like I really needed _that _memory," Dipper said, giving his sister a playful shove. "Seriously, we need to read his will. He may have left us something or wanted us to do something for him. You heard what Wendy said in her letter, he never stopped thinking of us." He slid off of the mattress and knelt down beside the epistle, hand paralyzed just inches above it. "Maybe we…"

"Come on, open it!" The brunette leapt off of the bed, joining him on the layer of discarded clothes, books, papers, and CDs. She gripped his wrist, guiding his hands to the flap and helping him tear it open. After a few moments of labor, the document was before them, vulnerable to their searching eyes. "Oh, my gosh…"

"Mabel?"

"I'll pack bags for us."

"I'll try to write a note for Mom and Dad."

::::::

Around ten o'clock, the twins were seated in the front seats of their Volkswagen, two duffel bags between them. Mabel scanned the testament for the seventh instance that night, her eyes reading, but her mind struggling to comprehend the words. _… I leave the Mystery Shack to my great-niece-and-nephew, Dipper and Mabel Pines… _"He knew that we loved that old place. That's why."

"Or, he knew that nobody else cared about it like we did," Dipper replied, igniting the engine and uneasily placing his hands on the steering wheel. Having only recently acquired his driver's licenses, driving was still like a stiff pair of jeans yet to be broken into. However, he supposed, he was getting along much better than Mabel. Her attention span was nothing impressive and she had a… _charming _tendency to choose back roads and lose herself in the veins of America's highways. "I can't believe he left it to us, though. Did he know we're only sixteen?"

"Are you sure this isn't running away from home?" she suddenly implored, glancing over her shoulder at their two-story house, rising from a luscious hill like a glass-eyed guardian. "What did you even write in the note? Mom and Dad won't even let me drive to the drug store by myself."

"I wrote that the person who sent the letter had something for us in Oregon and needed us to pick it up. We're going to be locked in the attic when we get back home, but… this is for Grunkle Stan and the Mystery Shack, Mabel. If we don't go up there and do something about it, nobody else will and someone will tear it down. I just… God, I don't want to see it become a pile of rubble." He turned the black Volkswagen into the neck of their subdivision, feeling like a rubber stopper trapped in a bottle. "Hey, can you read the rest of the will?"

"Okay." Still slightly dazed from her brother's passionate spiel about the Mystery Shack, Mabel picked up the document. "Um, okay… blah, blah, blah, sound mind and body, blah, blah… oh, here it is! Okay, I leave the Mystery Shack to my great-niece-and-nephew, Dipper and Mabel Pines- - that's us! And… blah, blah, scatter my ashes… oh, I leave my entire life savings to Wendy Jackson's college account. Aw! He gave his money to Wendy!"

"He-he did?" Dipper almost swerved off the dark road at the old man's generosity towards his laziest employee. He had always been convinced that Stan was eternally agitated by Wendy, but, apparently, they had known developed a relationship in the time since they had left. "Wow, that's crazy. I mean, that's great for Wendy, but I never thought Stan would part with his money."

"What, you thought they'd cremated the money too and scattered it with Stan?" Mabel asked with a snicker, tossing the will onto the dashboard. "I could totally believe that! But, I guess he just had a change of heart. People have those nowadays."

"Yeah, and they're called heart attacks. You know, all this time, I never thought Grunkle Stan would write to us again. And, now, he's leaving us the Mystery Shack. We're sixteen, we can't run a business in the middle of nowhere. Plus, we only packed enough stuff for one night. And I think I left my socks on the bed." Mabel nodded cheerfully, her thoughts already straying from the matter at hand. "Mabel, don't flag out on me, we have to talk about this."

"What's there to talk about, Dipper? I think we should at least do something about the Mystery Shack. That place was so awesome! It is summer, maybe we could open it up for awhile and then close it when school starts," she suggested, toying with the neck of her favorite sweater. She had never abandoned the phase of wearing them, instead knitting new ones to fit her eternally growing body.

"That's… actually not a bad idea, Mabel. Sure, Mom and Dad will hit the roof, but we're old enough to make our own decisions now," he added, glancing over at his sister. She had discovered a pen in the left cup holder and was currently connecting the freckles speckling her tanned forearm. "Um, maybe I spoke too soon."

Mabel thrust her arm into her brother's arms, beaming with a set of perfectly straight teeth. "Look, it's a butterfly!"

::::::

"Mabel… come on, wake up. We're here."

With a rather ungraceful snort, the brunette was jolted from pleasant sleep and an equally pleasant dream concerning the boy who sat across from her in English and vampirism. "Wha… ?" she mumbled through a mouthful of saliva, which she quickly wiped away with her sweater sleeve. Mabel glanced out the window, the last vestiges of lethargy dissipating once she recognized the dilapidated storefronts inching past them. "Wow! We're here! There's the newspaper! And the post office! Ooh, and the lake!"

"Yeah… it's all here," Dipper agreed quietly, watching the town through the windshield with bittersweet nostalgia playing on the edges of his heart. He rubbed a glazed eye, struggling to keep the tears (too much dust, okay, lack of sleep, that's all) in their lidded confines. "Oh, my God. Mabel… is that the girl who cheated you that one night, uh, during the dance? What was her name?"

"It's Pacifica Northwest!" Instead of cranking down the window and shouting her name ecstatically like he supposed she would, Mabel studied the curvy teenager silently. Their Volkswagen whined past her, leaving Pacifica with no knowledge that her goofy rival had been watching her intently. "You know, she doesn't look happy. I think I made the right choice, you know, never trying to act like her."

"I wouldn't want a sister who acted like Pacifica," Dipper assured her, spinning the steering wheel as the vehicle lurched towards the narrow pathway leading towards the Mystery Shack. "I know it's only been four years… but it feels like we've been gone forever. The place looks so different."

"It _does_ feel like we've been gone forever. It doesn't look that different, though," she commented, gesturing to the diner, which stood just as it had a quartet of summers ago. "See! There's the diner! Ya think the manliness tester is still there?" Giggling, Mabel nudged her brother; twin spots of blush suddenly appeared on either cheek, heat flaring through the previously chilly flesh. "Are we going the right way? I don't remember the road being so… messy."

Indeed, the soil trail had become almost unrecognizably overgrown. Enormous leaves slapped against the windows, giving the impression of driving through some exotic rainforest. Branches knocked on the glass, creating a crack in one corner that Mabel hastily decided not to reveal to Dipper. He was hunched over the wheel, knuckles so pale, the bones could easily split through the thin, milky layer of skin. The car bounced on its burly suspensions, jostling their luggage and throwing up clods of dust.

"This makes my voice sound awe-some!" Mabel exclaimed, her words split as she vibrated in her seat. She focused on the horizon, which was obscured by scores of enormous pine trees- - wait! That tin roof was awfully familiar. "Dipper, look! There it is! It's the Mystery Shack!" With a final groan, the Volkswagen leapt from the unkempt track, landing on the grassy halo ringing the decrepit structure. "It… hasn't changed at all, has it?"

"The 's' is still missing," he mentioned absently, still pressed to the dashboard, his jade eyes unable to abandon the defining relic of his childhood. "And Wendy's chair is still up there." It was difficult to swallow (just from driving all night, not tears, you need a soda) and he had to make a physical effort to exhale. "It hasn't changed."

"Come on! Let's go inside!" Mabel said enthusiastically, grabbing their bags by the straps and slinging them over her shoulder. She hopped out of the car, about to sprint towards the door like one would run to their long-lost love when she realized Dipper was in the driver's seat. He continued to gaze at the Mystery Shack with an expression of shock and… sadness? What was there to be sad about? They were finally back in Gravity Falls! "Dipper? You coming?"

"Yeah…" He sounded distant, moving mechanically as he climbed out and ambled around the hood, still staring at the building. "Something has changed, though." Mabel hitched her carnation duffel bag higher on her arm, shooting him an odd glance. "I don't know, but without Grunkle Stan, it just looks different."

"I guess you're right," Mabel admitted, relishing the timid rays of sun against the nape of her neck. "It doesn't look the same when he's not inside, ripping someone off. But, come on, we gotta go inside and see what's left!"

She hurried towards the front doors, chocolate curls bouncing with every step. Dipper leaned against the hood for a moment, still struggling to collect his composure. Just looking at the shack… it was like something inside of him had been sleeping, sleeping for years, and was just now stirring. And the rude awakening burned him, a flame ignited from suppressed pain, fury, depression. Somebody was dead again, okay, but it was different this time, you're playing by different rules, and- -

"Come on! There's still stuff inside!"

The boy shook his head to clear it of the philosophical prose that was starting to bog it down. He followed her, albeit slightly reluctantly, into the showcase arena of the Mystery Shack, which hadn't been dusted since they took the bus back home. Spider webs shimmered in the corners, their owners on the hunt for dinner. Box upon box of souvenirs were stacked to the ceiling… and one pile hadn't been cleaned up. A crimson fez lay besides a pile of plastic eyeballs.

"Crapalanche," Mabel breathed incredulously, kneeling down next to the ruptured cardboard and poorly made replicas of ocular organs. "Wendy wasn't kidding. And- - oh, my gosh. They didn't cremate his fez!" She shoved it into his hands, as if they were playing a rousing game of Hot Potato. "His angry ghost is going to return for it!"

"No kidding. He never went anywhere without this thing." Dipper ran his fingers through the frayed tassel, flashing to the old man, flat on his back, wishing he could reach it. He suddenly felt as though he were disturbing something peaceful. "Should we… should we put it where he is now? So his angry ghost won't have to return for it?"

The brunette looked befuddled for a moment, but her expression cleared. Luminescence gently highlighted her lovely visage, which had aged through the years, cheek bones, eyelashes, freckles, yet, somehow, hadn't changed at all. "We have to give it back to him. That way he can… what's it called? Rest in peace! Yeah, Grunkle Stan has to rest in peace." She gripped his wrist, dragging him back out the door; he had learned to sit back and let her steer in these situations.

They ground to a cessation just outside the gaping maw of the forest, which had been a wonderland when they were younger. Now, the dangers of the world burdening his imagination, he saw a hiding place for murderers, rapists, thieves… hadn't he seen Gobblewonkers, gnomes, and ghosts here before? "Come on, Dipper. Throw it in. Let Grunkle Stan rest in peace."

She sounded eerily serene, like this was an ordinary part of her routine. Frightened, Dipper tightened his grasp on the fez, the rough cloth slicing into his already throbbing palms. His arm refused to lower. The socket was rusted shut. Game over. Mabel tenderly placed her hand on his shoulder, her fingers seeming to pry it out of him. With a grunt of exertion, Dipper lobbed the fez into the depths of the woods, where his great-uncle's ashes were scattered with the pine cones and ferns.

Silence. The seconds, ticking in sync with his heartbeat, hammered into him. Then, as if accepting it as part of the forest, a breeze whistled through the treetops and a bird chirped a single note. Mabel wrapped her arms around him from behind, head burrowing into his neck. His vision swam (you're just tired, a lot of emotional stress, you're not crying) and blinking was torture.

A tear slid down his cheek. Finally, he was done.

::::::

"I found another crystal."

"Good, that should be the last one." Dipper swept the remaining dirt out the door, where it could cultivate in its natural habit. For the past three hours, they had been laboring to polish up the shack and collect the missing merchandise. The so-called "crystals" had already caused one injury (his foot still smarted), but Mabel should have uncovered the last remnant. He leaned against the broom, removing his signature cap and swiping at his soaked brow. "Well, that's just about it. This place could be ready to open tomorrow."

"You're thinking about opening it?" Mabel inquired, jerking away from the counter with a beam forming on her lips. "I knew it! I knew you couldn't say no to this place! You love it way too much!" She hopped over the empty boxes that had accumulated while cleaning, and enfolded him. "Ha, we'll be the Mystery Twins again! It'll be so awesome!"

"Calm down, Mabel, it's just an idea," Dipper reminded her, squirming out of her arms and approaching the open/closed sign pinned on the door. He could hear her humming, a tune that had been playing on the radio for months and had run its course.

The boy pressed his forehead against the plate glass, smiling at the clearing that would, someday, be crowded with customers. The air was fragrant with honeysuckle and grease. Sometime tomorrow, Wendy would visit, perhaps already packed for her voyage into the adult world. She would flick the bill of his cap, dance with Mabel, and they'd sit together on the roof, throwing pine cones at the target. It was a wonderful day in Gravity Falls and it was great to be alive.

**a/n: **Way too cheesy. Ha, yeah… um, I hoped you guys enjoyed, and I'm glad I got this chapter down before school started. (Wednesday, boo!) Thanks to everybody who has helped out so far, and stay tuned for the episode tomorrow, which is bound to be epic!


	10. Chapter 10: Branched

Story Ten:

Branched

**a/n: **Give a big round of applause to WordNerb93, who offered me this idea! To those who have seen The Lord of the Rings… sorry, I've never seen them. Anyway, this story concerns a creature from the movies, and I hope I didn't ruin it. I basically invented personalities for them, and used the names. Sorry! More adventure-oriented, in honor of Friday's awesome episode, and I hope you enjoy! Oh, and some Dipper/Wendy ahead. And, if you like to read things that way, Dipper/Pacifica (but, I hate that ship).

"Goodbye, Waddles! Be a good pig and stay out of the toothpaste!"

The pig blinked vacantly at his enthusiastic master before eliciting a snort, which she interpreted as a farewell. "Did you hear that? He said goodbye!" Mabel kneeled down to cuddle her precious pet one last time, showering his chubby cheeks with affectionate kisses. "Mabel loves you! Yes, she does! Ah… pig face."

Eventually, the brunette concluded her lengthy send-off and skipped over to the trio waiting, rather impatiently, for her arrival at the neck of the woods. "I'm here! Whoo! We're going camping! We're gonna eat marshmallows instead of real food and sleep on the ground! Whoo-hoo! Camp-ing! Camp-ing!"

"Dude, it's just camping," Wendy pointed out as Mabel began to chant aforementioned word rhythmically, each syllable punctuated with the thrusting of her fist into the air. They, along with Dipper and Soos, set out on the central vein of the town's infamous forest, their resonating footsteps the only audible sound. "Why do you have a cheer for camping?"

"I've never been before! There isn't anything very… green around our house," she explained, skipping along the path, her chocolate curls bouncing with every step. "Whoo! Nature!" The twelve-year-old girl paused at a log, bending one knee so that her foot rested on it; she shielded her eyes with a hand, giving her the appearance of a heroic visionary. "Somewhere out there is a night full of chocolate and fun!"

"You got it, hambone!" Soos chimed in, a bar of chocolate already in his hand and his eagerness on par with Mabel's. Dipper and Wendy, much more subdued about the evening ahead, trailed behind the overzealous duo, him with a heart rate typically found in elderly coronary victims. Ever since the incident at the fair (oh, please, don't bring that up), she had been spending more time with Robbie, and, while the shiner eventually faded and was never brought up again, it seemed to linger like the smoke after a wildfire.

"So, hey, is it true you guys have never been camping?" Wendy asked, shattering the awkward silence with her smooth-as-butter topics.

"Uh, yeah. Piedmont is kind of… concrete. And Mabel was kicked out of Girl Scouts when she ended up eating the cookies instead of selling them." The brunette turned around to give her brother a playful shove, causing him to stumble slightly and land against the base of an enormous pine tree. A splinter lodged itself in the exposed flesh of his forearm, drawing forth a scarlet bead of blood. "Ow! Mabel!"

As she scampered away to seek protection behind Soos, Wendy shook her head with a grin and leaned down to examine the wood shrapnel. "Don't worry, we'll get her back. Now, hold on…" She gripped the base of the splinter and, with a quick flick of her wrist, it released its grip on his skin. "There. Something tells me you'll live. Consider yourself a real camper."

Coercing his eyes to remain dry as hot pricks of pain stung the wound, Dipper offered her a thumbs up. Once her back was turned, he clamped a hand over the trickling spot and mouthed a myriad of unrepeatable words. The boy glanced up from his swelling forearm to the tree that bore his newfound soreness, shuddering inadvertently at how gnarled and decrepit it seemed. He had the impression of the tree tasting his blood and enjoying it.

The sinister moment passed as quickly as it came. Dipper swiped away the scarlet beads inching towards the ground and hurried over to the group.

:::::::

"Okay, all you have to do is tie it in a knot, a good knot, and- - no, not like a shoelace, Mabel, like a strong one. And you just sling it over the tree like this and… yep. The food is safe."

Wendy proudly examined the rope she had professionally looped around their supplies, which was limited to two sacks of marshmallows, beef jerky, trail max, and four canteens. The lump of plastic and tin, resembling some alien meteorite, dangled from a sturdy tree bough, out of an animal's reach. "And that's part of camping, dorks. I think we've earned ourselves some beef jerky."

"I wouldn't! I, uh, wouldn't take out beef jerky if I were you," Dipper stammered, his mind assaulted with sharp memories of the cruel Manotaurs. He still had the scars around his wrist from the pain hole. She eyed him suspiciously, each tense second causing his body temperature to rise another degree. "It's just, uh… it kind of attracts, um… never mind."

"Nah, I see where you're coming from, dude. We'll save it for tomorrow." Wendy winked at him, which might as well have been a fork of lightning sent down from the deities above them. He opened his mouth dumbly, silently choking on words his lips refused to form. A beached whale could have uttered more than he did. "Hey, let's go ahead and toast the marshmallows. They're the best."

"Agreed!" Soos instantly tackled one of the plastic bags, tugging the seal and grunting with exertion. Well aware it might take her coworker a few minutes to figure out the perforated edge, Wendy turned to address the twins.

"Hey, can you guys go get some firewood? All you have to do is pick up branches and wood on the ground. Get a lot, 'cause we'll need it for warmth, too. Can you city kids handle that?" she inquired playfully, flicking the bill of the boy's cap. Mabel flashed her a silver-filled grin, still bouncing from the pleasure of a lengthy hike through the dense woods. Her camera's storage space was almost entirely filled, most photographs involving a cerulean butterfly she had spotted flittering around their heads.

"You got it, sister!" The brunette seized her brother's shoulder, steering him onto a narrow pathway that sprawled deep into the woodland's core. He was still gawping senselessly, lost in a romantic stupor concerning him and the redhead wreaking havoc on a certain guitar player's life. "Dude, you look like a fish. Come on, we gotta get firewood. Look! Wood!" Mabel retrieved a partially decomposed length of oak, pushing it into Dipper's hands and jolting him from his glimmering reverie.

"Ow, Mabel! Again with the wood! That could've gone _through _me." Together, they shuffled forwards in silence; above them, twilight spread its violet arms against a tangerine sky, while the sun begrudgingly sank behind the horizon's yawning mouth. Every few steps, one would bend down to scoop up a fallen branch or log fragment, tucking it protectively in their folded arms. Finally, Mabel, famous for not being able to tolerate silence, risked life and limb to inquire about Wendy.

"So, are you and Wendy gonna share a tent?" she teased, poking Dipper in the cheek before skipping out of slapping-distance. "Uh, uh, we could even share a sleeping bag, Wendy," Mabel mocked, deepening her voice until it was ridiculously male. "Just make sure you don't take the beef jerky out! Seriously, what _is _it with you and beef jerky? That stuff is good!"

"Mabel! Cut it out! We're not gonna share a tent. And forget about the beef jerky thing, it's nothing. Besides, it's much harder to talk to her since I hit her in the eye." Sighing dejectedly, Dipper extended his arm and broke a limb off of a nearby tree, which was surprisingly bare for the height of summer. "I just feel so weird, like I'm… I don't know, like I'm not allowed to talk to her while she has a boyfriend."

"Oh, come on, she can't date Robbie forever. He's a total jerk. And Waddles destroyed his tight pants, remember?" They shared a chuckle over the image of Robbie struggling with his shrunk jeans, only for their laughter to be interrupted by a threatening growl. "Whoa! Did you hear that?"

The duo ground to a halt in the center of the soil trail, unconsciously clotting together until they resembled conjoined twins. Once again, a venomous snarl resonated and the ground beneath their feet vibrated dully. Moving cautiously, Dipper removed his trusty book from his vest, flipping through the pages soundlessly in search of the source of the sounds. None was necessary, for Mabel suddenly lifted her arm, index finger trembling as it pointed to the contorted tree he had stolen from moments ago. "Dipper?"

In the center of the thick trunk, the wood rippled and twisted impossibly until it vaguely resembled a pair of furious eyes. A crevice ruptured the surface, slowly widening into a hideous mouth filled with splinter-like fangs. The knobby branches closest to this nightmarish visage began to move freely, almost like… arms. Tangles of roots, originally obscured by a rich layer of sediment, emerged and levered the foliage upwards. The miniature stump that had once housed a thin bough bled a trickle of sap.

"Foolish Fleshling… you have taken from me. And now, I must take from you." The forest floor undulated with violent tremors as the monster stepped forward on root clumps, its bizarre limbs reaching out for Dipper. His panicked mind quickly devised an explanation for the surreal quality of this situation: _This is one of the creatures of the forest. And it has to come today._

All cohesive thoughts were banished away with the first shiver of oak against his flesh, which catapulted him into a frenetic rave. "NO! Mabel, get help! Hurry! No, no, get off of me!" Alas, no amount of forceful kicking and punching would deter the demented beast, who held him between knitted branches. He was being lifted off his feet, and Mabel just couldn't maintain her grip on his hand. Within seconds, the tree was romping unceremoniously through the plots of growth, leaving a wide-eyed brunette in his wake.

Wendy glanced up from the plush depths of the marshmallow bag, scanning the clearing they were currently staying in. "Hey, Soos, do you hear that?" The man, his mouth already snow white with sugar powder, followed her gaze to the literal wall of trees and vines surrounding them. In the distance, a high-pitched voice rose above the whine of insects and calls of evening birds.

"WENDY! SOOS! TREES ARE ALIVE! CALL THE POLICE, TREES ARE ALIVE AND THEY'RE GONNA STAB MY BROTHER!"

::::::

"Where are you taking me?"

"Silence, puny Fleshling! You're place will be understood soon enough!" the tree roared in reply, his gruff tone like that of a god's with splinters clogging his throat. Dipper, who had recently given up on struggling against the beast, examined his surroundings, hoping to recognize them. Of course, they were as unfamiliar as arctic territory or Martian terrain. Then again, if all trees were alive, he supposed they wouldn't linger in plain sight of the… what did he say, Fleshling? The crude term sent shivers down his spine. "The Entlings have their reasons for Fleshling use."

"Entling?" The creature grunted in response, utilizing a branch cluster to sweep aside a curtain of vines.

"Yes, that is the name of our proud clan. We are the Entlings, superior over you Fleshlings, and we refuse to suffer at your clumsy hands." The Entling must have sensed his offense, for it elicited a noise much like a victorious harrumph. "When you foolish Fleshlings decide to abuse our wonderful gift to nature… well, we have our methods of use." He stepped into a wide, oblong clearing, populated by scarlet poppies and tall brush instead of pine trees. A stone platform had been erected in the meadow's center; a ring held a blazing gauntlet, which flickered dimly in the evening's light.

"Welcome, young Fleshling, to the Entling Game."

Several other Entlings, as diverse as a group of humans (_or Fleshlings, _he thought hysterically), were puttering about with self-righteous expressions and confident strides. One was tending to the flame, feeding it enormous leaves instead of branches. "Our long, proud history is the loins of a wonderfully efficient method of exterminating murderous Fleshlings. They take from us? We shall take from them. Entlings! I have brought you another contestant!"

Dipper found himself being dropped roughly on the stone and riverbank soil surface, absolutely dazed by the strange creatures. They spoke like vain philosophers, assured of their own superiority over humans, considering this… game, whatever it was, a brilliant procedure contrived by past Entlings. It was… could it be a dream? Could he be face down in a patch of grass, having succumbed to heat stroke or some other camping-induced coma? Was this really happening?

A blonde twelve-year-old was shoved into the opposite trough, her plum eye shadow smeared into haunting shadows beneath her lids. The expression of mortal terror was out of the ordinary, but, otherwise, Dipper could have recognized the girl from anywhere. Instead of sensing a routine flare of rage, he felt an odd mixture of pity and triumph. Sure, nobody deserved to be abducted by demon overgrowths, but… well, taking a jab at Mabel was _personal. _Especially when those jabs had temporarily fractured her confidence and almost transformed her into an insane recluse.

The Entling who had kidnapped Dipper trundled up onto a stout pedestal mounted in the center of the arena. "Fellow Entlings, we are gathered here tonight to witness the battle between these two Fleshlings! We will be justified and rid the Earth of two more of these horrible creatures! Let us not forget who is superior!" A cry of support, like the grating roar of a chainsaw, rose above the sea of writhing branches and Halloween faces. "Assemble!"

Dipper glanced around the ring, finally apprehending the phrase "scared half to death" and not particularly enjoying the sharp claws of fear on his heart. The Entlings were drawing around the lips of the stones, until they formed a wall of robust trunks, providing not a single exit or entrance for either tween. _They're smart. Smarter than they look. They know we want to escape and- - oh, who am I kidding, these are trees. Oh, man… I'm going to die fighting a girl. _

The beast grinned and rose his branches to the dying breaths of day. "Let the match begin!"

For a moment, Dipper and Pacifica only gawped senselessly at one another, unable to grasp the extremely unfortunate turn of events. He could perceive a spark of defiance in her ice blue eyes, which was quickly extinguished when one of the nearby Entlings swiped at her exposed arm. _They're not going to quit until we've killed each other, _Dipper realized incredulously, stupefied by the intelligence a simple tree could possess. _They won't quit…_

The blonde, tears running down her oily cheeks, suddenly sprinted across the stones at a surprising speed, her arms outstretched like a superhero. She tackled him like a professional football player, pinning his arms at his sides and digging her knees into his chest. "Just play around for awhile. They can't make us do this forever," she pleaded hoarsely. "I'm sorry! I'm really sorry, please, I don't wanna die!"

If he hadn't been in the same compromise, Dipper might have taken some unholy pride in the fact he had Pacifica begging for mercy. He nodded, and squirmed beneath her, managing to lever his feet under the girl's torso, launching her backwards. They made their way across the pavilion, half-heartedly tossing out kicks and punches that only rarely connected. It was when the heat of the fire warmed his back that the idea occurred to him.

"Pacifica." The word was hissed through a set of gritted teeth, catching her attention. Still shaking him weakly, Pacifica acknowledged the dark-haired boy with a slight tilt of her head. "I'm going to get some coals from the fire and through them on the crowd. Get out of your jacket."

Surprised, yet entranced, by the boldness of his proposal, she jerked her head down and allowed Dipper to grip her wrists, restricting all movements. Pacifica floundered about, her lavender jacket loosening around her arms until the sleeves were clutched in his hands. "Move!" Responding to his command, Pacifica ran like wildfire, glancing over her shoulder just once. Dipper utilized the sweater as a net, scooping up a pile of smoldering coals and tossing them at the unsuspecting spectators. "GO, run!"

Pockets of dry grass and branches ignited hastily, licks of orange flame springing up every few yards. Without giving it much thought, he laced his fingers with hers, dragging the shaken girl through a gap in the Entling throng. They were almost entirely out of the ring when a burst of oak filled his vision, soon followed by a branch striking his already smarting chest. _Why do they go for the chest? _Dipper scrambled back to his feet, coughing with every breath, his trebling vision providing him with a smeared view of the Entling leaning over Pacifica.

"Run, Pacifica!" he gasped, spitting a sour mouthful of blood and saliva; a tooth bounced dully against the ground. "Run!" Instead of following his crystal clear instructions, the girl planted a solid kick on the trees closest boughs. One snapped off with a sound like ice breaking; glistening sap spurted from the wound. "Or… or do that."

Another Entling closed in around them, the monsters knotting up and, once again, surrounding the pair. The fragrance of sap and bark was overpowering. "If you refuse to kill each other, then we must do it for you!" the leader roared, rearing one gnarled limb back, prepared to lower it on a panting Dipper. "Foolish Fleshlings, this is your end!"

Suddenly, the Entling paused, its branches as still as bones in a fossil pit and face queerly vacant. The beast's top half abruptly slid off of the bottom, landing on the ground just inches away from his feet. Behind the lower portion of trunk, a furious brunette stood, poised with a chainsaw in her hands. "Get your branches off my brother!"

Dipper was suddenly and extremely grateful for Mabel being born. He hauled himself back upright, seeking security behind his armed sister; she brandished the mechanism at the horrified Entlings. "Anyone else wanna go to tree heaven?" Mabel threatened, prompting him to wonder just how many old action movies she had watched back home.

A whirring filled the air, like the whine of some enormous insect. The hungry teeth of another chainsaw tore ravenously through another Entling, thanks to Soos. Wendy dismembered several branches from one nearby before plunging the blades into the creature's chest. She caught his eye and grinned devilishly, providing him with a newfound rush of adrenaline. Even the exhilaration of an Entling-enforced battle with Gravity Falls's cruelest citizen couldn't compare to a smile from Wendy.

The Entlings, quickly comprehending they had finally been outsmarted, retreated back into the forest, almost comical as they stumbled over roots and the sap-gushing arms of their friends. Within seconds, the clearing was empty, dim, and fresh with the scent of pine. Nobody dared to speak or even exhale loud enough to draw attention to themselves.

"Yo-you…" was all Pacifica was able to utter. She then proceeded to collapse, her body eerily still in the ashy shafts of dusk. Somebody's voice quietly raised a decent observation.

"If she's dead, do you think they'll believe it was human-hating trees?"

::::::

"I can't believe you got beat up by a girl."

"Hey! We were just faking it!" Dipper removed his marshmallow from the dancing flame, scrutinizing it before cautiously placing it in his mouth. Pure, baked sugar fluff. His system may not have been perfect, but it was certainly better than Mabel's method to simply char hers and shove them in her mouth. "And besides, if it were for real, I could have taken her."

This protest was met with amused guffaws from the three other people sharing the campfire with him. They had kindled a small blaze just outside the Mystery Shack, all thoughts of actually spending a night in the potentially fatal woods erased from their minds. Toasting marshmallows was all the outdoors experience they needed, thank you.

"Yeah, right! She may be a total jerk, but she's got claws, dude," Wendy commented, sandwiching her own marshmallow between two heavenly squares of chocolate. Thank goodness for a honey allergy. She could get away with only the sweet ingredients of a s'more. "And even if you were just playing around, she still got you pretty badly. How's that missing tooth?"

Color surged through his cheeks. "Hey, that one was from the tree! Pacifica didn't do _that_ much damage, just like I didn't do as much to her. I just hope she doesn't remember much when she wakes up. Did somebody tape a note to her forehead, or did we just leave her on the front porch?" Looks were exchanged, silently asking if anyone had remembered to leave a message with the young heiress's body. "Nope? Okay…"

"Dude, it could have been much worse. There could have been mutant woodpeckers with the mutant trees," Soos pointed out, somehow finding the bright side to the incident. Dipper smiled and toasted his marshmallow stick with the man's, agreeing that, yes, it could have been much worse. "I know one thing, though. I'm never going camping again."

**a/n: **Yeah… I don't really have feelings about this one. It's just a little action/adventure/friendship piece of fluff, but don't forget to thank WordNerb93 for the idea! Oh, speaking of ideas, hold off a little on the story suggestions. I really appreciate them, thank you guys so much, but I already have a bunch on hand. Also, a little mention: Waddles is now my favorite character. He wins on every level.


	11. Chapter 11: Forgotten

Story Eleven:

Forgotten

**a/n: **An idea kindly offered by ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction. Also, brain bleach (must not say the forbidden *taco* word), and a darker tale than the last story. I really enjoyed this one, despite its depressing tone. Sibling love, no genuine Pinecest. Spoilers for "The Time Traveler's Pig" ahead. Enjoy!

Curses. He had fallen asleep downstairs again.

Laying under a tangerine clock spring of light, half-conscious and dry-mouthed, Dipper Pines slowly comprehended he had nodded off sometime during the midnight movie. He was drawn into one plush corner of the leather armchair, and the odor educed from within the cushioned depths was enough to bring tears to his eyes. With a grunt of disgust, he pushed himself away from the fabric, gasping for even a whiff of fresh oxygen. Once the ordeal was done, leaving behind painful scars, another dilemma presented itself: Waddles.

Mabel had refused to part with her pet, in spite of Grunkle Stan's objections, and was supposed to allow him a few minutes of freedom each morning. Of course, because she was Mabel, she often forgot her daily duty, discovering it was much more enjoyable to play with Waddles than adhere to a routine. So, and this was possibly the last glimmers of guilt from the time-traveling incident, Dipper took it upon himself to care for the lovable pig whenever Mabel disregarded her responsibilities.

"Okay, pig, outside time." He lurched to his feet, almost collapsing as blood scrambled to return to the veins webbing his legs and feet. "Whoa, head rush…" Balance regained, Dipper shuffled into the kitchen, where the pig's pair of bowls were kept. Ordinarily, Waddles would be gazing up at him with those irresistibly adorable eyes; today, there was no sign of the animal. In fact… the bowls were missing as well. "Waddles? Where are ya?"

Something felt terribly… _odd _about the area. He glanced around, employing his keen sense of observation in the hopes of discovering just what- - wait. Everything belonging to him and Mabel had disappeared. The photographs clipped to the refrigerator door, the pair of frayed placemats, the navy and lavender, respectively, cups on the shelf. They had all vanished without a trace. There was no visible evidence they lived there.

A sick shiver raced up his spine, sapping the joy out of what might have been a wonderful day. If this was a prank, it was bizarrely elaborate and, besides, of all their enemies in Gravity Falls, who would simply steal a few things from their kitchen? It was just… Dipper fished for a reasonable explanation, and came up empty. He could have disregarded the photos and cups, but Waddles was missing, too…

"GET OUT OF HERE! GO ON, MOVE!"

The furious shouts seemed to shake the dilapidated structure to its very core. He turned towards the door slowly, feeling as though he were in a lucid dream that contained a world that closely, but not perfectly, mirrored his own. With a frightened yelp, Mabel skidded into the room, her chocolate curls disheveled and her lightly blushing cheeks florid with panic. Before Dipper could ask what the _heck _was going on, she launched her petite body at him, arms locking around his chest and drawing him as close as humanly possible. "Mabel? Mabel, what's going on?"

Stanford Pines dashed after her with surprising speed, a baseball bat clutched tightly in his fist. "You little miscreant! Get the- - oh, there's two of you? What the hell do you think your doing in here, kids? This ain't a hotel! Now, get out! Get out now!"

"Whoa, Grunkle Stan, what are you talking about?" Dipper exclaimed, clutching his sister securely against his shirt. He stroked her back reassuringly, hoping it would quell her fears, yet she continued to tremble violently in his arms. "It's us, you know, Mabel and Dipper?" The elderly man only glowered vacantly at them, the weapon quavering as it remained poised just a few feet away from their exposed heads. "Gr-Grunkle Stan, if you're trying to prank us, this isn't funny anymore!"

"I don't know who you kids are! I've never seen you in town, and I'm not your, what, Grunkle? Now, get out before I call the police!" With a bellow of rage, the baseball bat was lowered swiftly, coming within literal inches of his forehead. Scrambling to his feet, Dipper dragged Mabel out the back door, the twins landing roughly on the soil patches ringing the Mystery Shack. He lay there for a heart-wrenching moment, bewildered, his panic-clouded mind struggling to contrive an justification for their great-uncle's behavior.

"I-I don't know what happened! When I woke up, everything in our room was gone! Everything! So, I went downstairs to ask Grunkle Stan where it all went, and he grabbed the 'we're-being-robbed' bat and yelled at me to get out! It's like he doesn't even know who we are! AND I CAN'T FIND WADDLES!" Overcome with disparity, she threw herself onto the ground dramatically, like a child preparing to stir up trouble in the center of the local mall.

"It's okay, Mabel. There's gotta be an explanation for this. He wouldn't just… freak out like that. Unless something was really wrong." The prospect of memory eradication presented itself. If Stan had suffered some sort of amnesia, or, dear God, a _senior _moment, he supposed it would pass like a foreboding storm cloud on a summer afternoon. Of course… no, no, get that _thought out of your head! _"Let's just ask Wendy for some help. Maybe she knows what went on. And we'll find Waddles."

The brunette murmured something that was muffled by a mouthful of loam, so he assumed- - or, rather, assured himself- - she had agreed to his decision. With a somewhat bemused sigh, Dipper gently pried Mabel away from the ground, offering her a comforting smile. She returned it, and they hurried around the Mystery Shack's rickety foundation, almost colliding with the redhead's battered Volkswagen. Recalling his encounter with the butter-yellow vehicle's bumper, he extended his arm, preventing Mabel from striking the hood.

Wendy was locking the doors by use of her keys, swinging the fuchsia ring idly around an index finger. Her emerald eyes skimmed over the pair absentmindedly, not even a flicker of emotion registering. "Wendy! Hey, Wendy, have you seen Waddles?" Mabel called out, the lavender sleeves of her nightgown flapping like butterfly wings around her thin wrists. The fifteen-year-old regarded them with a strange expression, increasing the intensity of the Horrible Thought. _Get that thought out of your head!_

"Uh… who are you guys?"

Even the murderous glare in his great-uncle's eyes couldn't compare to the soul-shattering pain of Wendy questioning his identity. An aggrieved moan escaped his throat, something strangled and agonized that had crawled out of his heart on splintered legs. The Horrible Thought throbbed sickly in his forehead, like the thump of some creature hiding behind a closet door.

_We don't exist anymore, we just don't exist, we just don't exist anymore._

"So… all right, then. Later." With an apathetic wave of her hand, Wendy clomped into the showcase arena, leaving two miserable twelve-year-olds in her wake. Tears dotted the sun-baked soil below.

"Do you think they're just tryin' to mess with us?" Mabel suggested, her voice oddly strained. "Is it like a prank or-or something? Do you think they're holding Waddles hostage?" Of course, her primary concern was for her pet, while Dipper contemplated the possibility of having your heart physically torn out of your ribcage. "Did we… did we do something to make them mad?"

"I don't think so. This is kind of… cruel for a joke. I-I just don't know…" He trailed off, feeling like a person who had just watched, helplessly, as their beloved home was reduced to ashes. "It's like we… don't exist anymore. M-Mabel, did you say that when you woke up this morning, everything in our room was gone?" She nodded her head furiously, cupping her elbows in her palms and glancing around suspiciously. "When I went into the kitchen earlier, everything that was ours was gone, too. Our cups, the pictures you took…"

Gravity Falls was quiet- - not silent, but as if somebody had tossed a quilt over the one-hydrant town, muffling the typically strident sounds. His vision was subdued, muted, the vividness of the picture not quite as bright anymore. Where his heart should have been,

_(uh who are you guys)_

the vacuum of space had opened up, slowly draining him of his natural light. If the world was a pane of window glass, there would have been a distinct fracture through Gravity Falls. Something was terribly off. He was trembling, unable to stay perfectly still. His very _atoms _were vibrating.

"But-but, we do exist! See!" She thrust her arm out, reinforcing the fact that, yes, she was visible. "I can see you and you can see me and everybody else can see us! W-we do exist!" Mabel insisted, her voice faltering slightly. Her thin chest was heaving for breath; a rather inelegant strand of mucus swung from one nostril. "See, we do- - oh, my gosh… what's happening to your arm?"

Moving slowly, anesthetized by the detection of everything _off _about the scene, Dipper lifted his forearm to eye-level. The flesh covering his ulna had grown tight and pale; each vein bulged from a tissue paper layer of skin. He studied it blankly, almost uncomprehendingly, despite the fact it was _his _arm and _his _blood barely squeaking through his arteries. Mabel peeled her own sleeve back, revealing that her arm was in a similar condition, if not retaining more color. "What's happening to us?"

"Mabel, I think we're disappearing."

::::::

The town square was alive with activity, its citizens, ranging from the evilly brilliant to the unbelievably dim-witted, milling about the marketplace. Prices were declared, money exchanged hands, pleasant natter was exchanged amongst friends. It was a lovely summer day, complete with a gently beaming sun and crystal clear sky, and everyone was, quite simply, pleased to be alive. And nobody regarded the chocolate-haired pair of twins working their way through the masses.

Hands locked, Dipper and Mabel (I can't seem to remember their last names) braved the swell of people and continued, undeterred. Ever since he had uttered the horrible certainty, neither had spoken a word, as if even discussing the matter would jinx them. While he invested himself into uncovering an elucidation for their current dilemma, Mabel, who could have fit her qualms into a thimble, understood what it felt like to worry.

She surveyed the crowd, at the people she had grown acquainted to in the past weeks. They hadn't the slightest as to who she was or what her name was or that she knitted sweaters… her gaze landed on Pacifica, flanked by her desperate comrades. Their eyes met for a brief moment, the way you might stare at a stranger that looks vaguely familiar, and Mabel's heart gave a shudder. She would have sacrificed every sweater in her collection for just one acknowledgement, a condescending smirk or snide comment.

Pacifica strutted by, not even bothering to remark her rumpled nightgown.

It was painful, really. Mabel snuck another glimpse at her fingers, drawn to them by morbid fascination. They were the clamping, searching hands of a skeleton, gaunt and decrepit, the fingers of the monster reaching out for some innocent girl's shoulder. She had to still exist… she was only twelve, this was like, well, it was like death. Only, she supposed, it was worse than dying, because no one would remember her. Once she vanished, so would any trace of her subsistence.

Dipper, on the other hand, was still attempting to formulate an explanation and steer clear of the gaping maw of depression. It wasn't plausible for their crisis to be a cruel, heartless joke… he reached into his vest pocket, but didn't withdraw the book. Instead, he ran the ball of his thumb across the pages' edge, hot tears boiling just below his lids. Even though it didn't quite matter anymore, he felt cheated by how quickly his memory had been erased from her own. His endeavors to impress her had disappeared in a flash.

If Wendy and Stan had no idea who they were, that meant… their parents weren't aware they had children. The thought struck him like a bolt from the blue, shoving him towards the lip of depression void. They were orphans. Unless…

"Mabel!" Dipper attempted to grip his sister's shoulder, only for his fingers to slide clumsily across the shimmering fabric of her pajamas. "R-Remember when we went to the fair and met the guy from the future? How we messed with the past?" She nodded, the dark recognition in her eyes belying her otherwise clueless expression. "Well, he said that he was going to go back and make sure our parents never meet. What if… what if he actually did it?"

"You mean, we were never born?" she asked, absolutely dumbfounded by the consequence for their mistake. "All we did was go back and mess around a little with the past. And it was only a little! All I did was show them my blinking shoes and your calculator. Was he that upset?"

"I guess he was. We _did _get him into a lot of trouble." The dark-haired boy tilted his head to the sky, a swell of shock rising and then ebbing as he discovered the stratosphere possessed no distinguishing hue. He was color blind. "We didn't mean to get him trouble, though. I guess… I guess sometimes there's consequences for what we do."

"Yeah, but why does it have to be this?" Mabel exclaimed irately, flexing her emaciated limb. "We just messed things up a little, and he goes back to keep our parents from being born. I-I can't even see colors anymore, Dipper! I'm gonna disappear without colors or friends or family, and no one will remember who we were. I just wanna go back to that day, so we can tell ourselves not to go back in time and try to make everything perfect. I just wanna go back…"

"I know." His spread arms accepted her, caressing her dramatically skeletal body with a love he had never quite experienced before. "But we just can't fix this one."

:::::::

It was a lovely place to die.

Noon had sent the town into a summertime stupor, romanticizing the season until it was a postcard perfect example of serenity. Not a single cloud blemished the heavens; cyan tendrils swirled around a celestial jewel to shame all others. A luscious hill beamed against the woodlands, flawless enough to be framed and hung on somebody's wall. Flowers swayed in a delicate breeze, while birds harmonized on their respective branches.

Yes, it was a lovely place to die.

The boy and girl (their names escape me) ascended the grassy slope, straw-like fingers knitted passionately. By now, their flesh had taken on the ghost-white pallor of a light allergy sufferer. Curls had become brittle, eyes dull, bruises much easier to be received. Together, they had pooled their collective angst and managed to banish a vast majority of it away. No longer did they fear death.

Upon reaching the pinnacle, the pair carefully lowered themselves to the ground and stretched out under the warm shafts of sunlight. Their heads were turned towards one another's, close enough to sense the philosophical vibrations as thoughts churned through their minds like laundry in a wringer. Finally, she broke the sweltering silence with her hoarse, yet chillingly calm, voice. "I think I know what I wanted to be."

"What?"

"Mostly, I wanted to make sweaters. I thought I was gonna be a fashion designer, but I just realized that being a designer isn't what I wanted to do. I wanted to be happy. To grow up someplace where I could be with the people I love all the time. My friends, my family, everyone. Like an apartment with a pretty skylight and white walls so I could paint things on them." Her lips flexed into a smile, the smile of a terminal child who was composing their wish list.

"Wow. That sounds like a really happy life. Much better than mine. I used to think they only way I could be happy was if I planned everything out and prepared myself for the world. Now, I kind of understand how wrong that was. You can't always prepare yourself for what might happen. I like your idea of just living where you could be close to everyone you love. Focusing on being happy."

"But that's what I like. Being happy. It's not supposed to be that way, happy all the time. It's really hard to be happy sometimes, like when… um, whatever her name was, when she messed with me. And, now, I think I'm going to be happy because I want to. I want to be happy when I disappear, because that's how I was. If no one remembers me, you'll remember me."

"Of course, I'll remember you. You're my twin sister and I love you. Even if I disappear… we'll still be with each other, right? We were born together and we'll fade together. And- - oh, no."

"What? What's wrong?"

"Mabel, you remind me of this constantly, but I can't remember the right time. How many minutes older are you?"

"Five. Five minutes."

"Mabel, I'm fading out before you. Please, please, don't cry, I just want you to know this. It's been a good life." Two hands were gripped, although one was almost entirely transparent and had extreme difficulty holding on. Grief-sick sobs escaped her, in spite of his desperate pleas, and she scrambled around blindly, clutching the last wisps of her brother. "It's been a good life, Mabel."

Within seconds, there was no evidence he (name, what is his name?) had ever lived. She lay, dissolving with every passing second, feeling the Earth rotating beneath her. The grass was sweet, fragrant, cushioning her head and giving her the impression of her bed back at the shack. Maybe she could just pretend… pretend this was a dream she would eventually awaken from. She would join her brother and they would lead their lives of blank walls and coffee shop dates. Bitter tears pooled around her head, dampening the tips of her tendrils.

"It's been a _wonderful _life," she whispered blissfully, both falling into a deep sleep and stirring from a lovely dream.

**a/n: **So… uh, school has been killer, as has treatment, and I'm not very proud of how this one turned out. I just don't think it had the quality of my other stories, and, uh, I'm sorry, Guy, for disappointing you. Um, let me take the opportunity to say two things: one, thank you all for your thoughtful comments and favorites, they always make my day. Second, if anybody is interested in creating art for these stories, I'd be glad to message you.


	12. Chapter 12: Roadstripe

Story Twelve:

Roadstripe

**a/n: **Brought to you by the one, the only, ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction! This installment has a much lighter tone than the past few stories, and uses the twins as they appeared in "Testament" (sixteen and living at home). So, I hope you guys enjoy this one!

"Disco girl… coming through, that girl is you…"

The pair of sixteen-year-olds weren't particularly famed for their singing voices, but when caffeinated and eager to continue their road trip, their rendition of BABBA's greatest hit was exceptional enough to be recorded. Of course, he would rather shove a needle through his eye than allow anyone outside of his family discover he had an unrequited passion for the Icelandic pop group. These efforts to conceal his guilty pleasure, however, were essentially negated, considering every car surrounding them could hear the bouncy beat.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. The song faded out, leaving a rather uncomfortable silence in its wake. Mabel leaned down and switched the radio off, a satisfied beam gracing her gently blushing visage. "I told you that listening to the CD would be worth it. That last song was just for you, Disco Girl," she added, poking her brother affectionately in the cheek. She then consulted their atlas, which might as well have been written in Russian, for Mabel had limited geography skills (with the exception of folding maps into hats). "Hey, there's only three more red lines until we get to Florida! Oh, wait, I think I'm looking at the wrong thing."

"Mabel, that's a map of Copenhagen. What exactly were you doing during Geography class last year?" Dipper inquired, despite the fact he had a decent idea of what her answer would be. He eased their black Volkswagen forward another few inches, the only distance he was capable of traveling in the bumper-to-bumper traffic. Apparently, everybody on the West Coast had the impulsive urge to travel to Texas along with them.

"Drawing waffles, finger-knitting, and working on my Waddles scrapbook," Mabel replied cheerfully, patting her fuchsia duffel bag for emphasis. The girl never left home without her collection of photographs featuring herself and her precious pet. "Hey, when we get out of traffic, can we go to McDonalds? I'm starving."

"Mabel, you wiped me out when you decided to raid the Little Debbie shelf at the gas station. My wallet hasn't been this empty since the day I got it." One elbow attempting to do the driving a pair of hands did, Dipper dug the leather piece out of his jean's pocket and passed it to his sister. "Oh, and I really hope we don't get pulled over, because no one will believe that's me on my driver's licenses."

"Hey, the Sharpie slipped! And you look handsome with a moustache!" Mabel giggled as she slipped the laminated square of paper out of its designated pocket; a thick band of facial hair had been added to his photograph. "Ha… that's awesome. Don't worry brother, I've got ya covered. Watch this!" She slipped her fingers into the wallet's outer pockets, transforming it into a crude, but surreally hilarious, puppet. "Feed me! Feed me so I can take Mabel to McDonalds and get her a Happy Meal!" Mabel rummaged around in the glove compartment, currently stocked with bubblegum (she was addicted), maps, and ear plugs, and unearthed a crumpled dollar bill. "Here you go, little wallet."

"So, let me get this straight. You let me bankrupt us on Little Debbie snacks, just so you could do Wallet Theater." The notion to bash his head against the dashboard was suddenly prominent, as it always was during a car trip with Mabel. He absolutely adored his sister, but four years wasn't enough to mellow out a girl like her. At least she wasn't driving. They would have been somewhere in Idaho (or Copenhagen) if Mabel was behind the wheel.

"Hey, we need something to eat at the hotel. You saw the website, they don't have complimentary breakfast." Still using it as a strange marionette, Mabel pressed the stitched edges of the wallet against her brother's cheek, adding her own kissing sound effect. "See? You're wallet is happy now."

"As long as I can make the accessories happy…" Dipper sighed dryly, fighting to keep his amused grin in check. "Fine. You and the wallet win. We'll go to McDonalds, as long as you promise not to take my chicken nuggets."

"I can't make promises I can't keep, Dipping Sauce," Mabel insisted, propping her feet up on the dashboard, well aware the action drove her brother absolutely insane. "You always have more than me. And it's a tradition. Remember the first time we went to McDonalds? I took your chicken nuggets, and I've been doing it ever since. You don't break tradition, broseph."

"Don't remind me. I got stuck at the top of the plaything and couldn't get down. That thing is a death trap." The idiot heading the procession of cars finally decided to end his cell phone call and turn off the interstate. As a result, the Volkswagen crept forward timidly, then gained courage, coasting along the concrete median. A luminous summer sun glinted in the sky like a precious jewel, delivering woe and blindness to all those who refused to don a pair of sunglasses.

Contented and pleased to be alive on a lovely day, the twins sat together in comfortable silence, on the way to Texas. They were heading towards a family reunion, which wasn't extremely exciting in itself, but any excuse to take a road trip was just fine with them. Correction: any excuse to take a road trip without their parents was just fine with them. God love them, but they were able to leech the fun out of any activity.

Eventually, the golden arches of Mabel's favorite restaurant were visible, glowing like some heavenly beacon. She cheered as they pulled into the drive-through lane, which wrapped entirely around the glass-plated structure. "Whoo! Happy Meal Time! Oh, and a smoothie! Their smoothies are _sooo _good!"

"Whoa, Mabel, unless you're going to do another installment of Wallet Theater, take it down a notch. We're not rich. Or remotely wealthy." The brunette cast him a smirk, evidently stating she did not believe a word of his objection. "Oh, don't give me that look. I spent three and a half days wandering around the neighborhood, in the freakin' winter, trying to sell brownies, just so I could on the stupid band trip. That was six months ago, and I still have blisters on my fingers."

Mabel, prepared to protest this statement, was silenced when a hand was thrust into her vision field. True to Dipper's word, his fingertips were hard with calloused blisters. "Oh… well, we don't have to be rich! Besides, it's not like McDonalds is an Olive Garden or anything. And that band trip wasn't stupid! We went to Disney World! The happiest place on Earth!"

"Mabel, are you getting paid for product placement or something? Disney World is like going to the DMV, except there's a lot more people and strollers. And do you remember the It's a Small World ride? When the dolls came to life? I am never going back there. Unless I have a small machete." They pulled up to the speaker. "Hold on, shh… yeah, um, hello?"

"Welcome to McDonalds, can I take your order?"

"Yeah, um, we're going to have one chicken nugget Happy Meal- -"

"For a girl!"

"- - for a girl, and one ten-piece chicken nugget… thing. Um, one strawberry smoothie and one medium Coke."

"That'll be seven twenty-five. Pull up to the window," the disembodied, vaguely bored, voice instructed. Glad to have the ordeal complete (he just despised ordering food), Dipper followed the stale demand. Nothing could have prepared him for the college student who was slouching sullenly behind the sliding window. "That'll be seven twenty-five. We take cash and credit."

"R-Robbie?" he stammered, staring uncomprehendingly at the nineteen-year-old boy at the register. The greasy ripples of coal black hair were unmistakable, as was the unexplainably spiteful scowl. Shock quickly dissipated however, replaced by something not unlike victory. Who knew Wendy's sleazy old boyfriend would be employed at the one McDonalds they decided to peruse? "It-it's me, you know…" A swell of memories suddenly flooded his mind, assaulting his common sense with bitter images of himself and the boy at odds.

"You." Robbie narrowed his eyes, and, despite the fact they were matched identically height-wise, Dipper experienced a familiar flair of panic. He tore the crumpled bills out of the leather piece, not bothering to calculate their exact amount; he failed to notice a few receipts and a Barnes and Noble gift card had been included in the hail of currency.

"Keep the change!" Dipper gunned the engine and propelled the lissom vehicle forward, successfully traveling one hundred miles an hour to complete a distance of five feet. Once they were at the second window, he collapsed against the steering wheel, silently cursing his evident lack of… manliness. "Ugh. It's like fate likes to keep reminding me I never dealt with that guy. I'm cursed to always see him."

"Aw, what? You could have totally kicked his butt. Remember when you, like, ninja-kicked that guy who tore my sweater?" Mabel hugged her current sweater, a fuchsia number beholding an enormous narwhal, closer to her chest. Having decided to never outgrow her yarn-induced phase, she continued to knit new pieces of clothing to match her various interest (mostly obscure animals and favorite foods).

"Mabel, I kicked that guy and then he knocked me out. Thanks for reminding me." The boy extended his arms absently to accept the two Styrofoam cups and greasy bag, distributing its contents. "Besides, he still kind of freaks me out. I think it's the eyeliner. It just… ugh, he makes those vampire bats seem like parrots or something."

"Don't worry broseph, the odds of you seeing him again are now impossible. You're good," Mabel assured him, wrapping her lips around the scarlet straw and suckling noisily. "And I have the perfect thing to go with my chicken and strawberries!" She plunged her hand eagerly into the drug store shopping bag, which was stocked primarily with Little Debbie snacks. "Ta-da! Look what I found in the back of the store surrounded by dust! Smile Dip!"

An alarm bell clanged wildly in Dipper's mind at the mere mention of the candy. "Whoa, no way. No way, Mabel! The last time you had Smile Dip, the teachers called the police because they thought you were on drugs. And the time before that, we were in that convenience store with Wendy's friends and you got possessed. And the time before that- -"

"Pth! You worry too much! Besides, it's only one little bag! I know how to control myself," the brunette declared confidently, tearing open the top zealously. "Look, it'll be simple. Sip of smoothie, chicken nugget, Smile Dip. I'll… what's it called? Pace myself. Yeah, I'll pace myself."

"Fine. But, if you start sweating sugar like last time, I'm not taking you to the hospital." As he merged into the steady trickle of vehicles, Dipper, shamelessly utilizing his teeth, ripped a pack of ketchup open. And, of course, most of the crimson substance spattered the fabric of his orange and navy T-shirt. "Aw, I got it on my shirt. Hey, Mabel, did we pack that little stain stick thing? Mabel? Mabel…"

The girl's chocolate eyes were the size of saucers and her pupils had dilated until they were little more than flecks of pepper in a pond of cocoa. Carnation foam had gathered at her mouth; she gurgled unintelligibly, possibly speaking to whatever inane hallucination her mind proposed (Waddles as a superhero!) "Mabel! Come on, you only had one! Man, what am I going to do about this… ?"

Resolving his best option was to escalate his efforts to reach their destination, Dipper eased his foot lower onto the gas pedal. The only cure for Smile Dip Overdose (SDO as it was referred to by third graders) was lots of water and a long nap. He could only pray no relatives caught sight of innocent little Mabel sputtering and salivating like a mindless junkie.

His day was just going _too _well. A police car materialized in the corner of his rearview mirror, its siren uttering sharp retorts every few seconds. "Of course. Why don't you strike me with lightning and flood the Earth while you're at it?" Dipper mumbled darkly as he pulled the Volkswagen over. After a moment of terrible anxiety, a redheaded police officer knocked on his window. "Um, uh, hi there."

"You were going a little fast there, son. My radar said sixty-five miles per hour. May I see your driver's licenses?" Trembling with disbelief, he yanked the slip of identification out of his wallet and handed it to the expectant man. He studied it stoically, then glanced up with an expression of insult. "You expect me to believe that this is you?"

"What? Of course, that's me, I'm- -" Dipper suddenly recalled the vandalism done to his photograph and, once again, had the urge to just smash his skull against the steering wheel. In fact, he just allowed every muscle in his neck to slacken; his forehead bounced dully against the leather. "Oh, my God. Oh… my God. I'm sorry, my sister drew a moustache on it and- -"

"What's going on with the girl?" the officer interrupted sharply, jerking his pointer finger to the still gargling Mabel. Silently cursing the manufacturers of Smile Dip (are you guys happy now?), Dipper offered him the candy wrapper sheepishly. "You do realize this stuff is banned in America, sir. Why don't you step out of the car?"

A new bruise throbbed erratically on his temple. "I'm going to jail, aren't I?"

::::::

The silence in the chilly holding cell was like a fleece blanket over a campfire, practically suffocating them. A fluorescent bar flickered dimly above them, casting a sick glow on the cracked concrete and faded tiles. Beyond the steel sliding door, police officers strode briskly between desks, inquisition rooms, and further scores of barred cubicles. The fatal phone call had been completed (they were to be locked in their rooms until college), leaving nothing more to be discussed. The symptoms of the Smile Dip had dissipated (but not after she had proclaimed "Super Waddles, away!" and leapt off of a desktop).

Mabel, her head resting comfortably on her brother's lap, wearily glanced up at a deep-in-thought Dipper. Before speaking, she enlarged her chocolate eyes until they glistened adorably. "Dipper?"

Those eyes killed him. "Yeah?"

She slowly pushed herself into an upright position, her lethargic expression gradually becoming one of mischief. "You know, my friend Candy is celebrating her birthday next week and she really wants me to come. You know what that means?" Mabel extended her arm, curling her delicate fingers into a fist. Dipper couldn't prevent the smile from crossing his face, and he willingly bumped his own fist against her own. Together, in perfect unison, they uttered the fantastic words:

_"Road trip."_

**a/n: **This one was just a silly little installment after some pretty heavy-handed stories and I hope you guys enjoyed it! Now, all we have to do is wait impatiently for Friday… Thanks for all of your support, and getting me to one hundred reviews! I wish there was a way to personally thank everyone who has so kindly commented! Just… thank you, it means the world to me.

For Next Time: A sequel to "Discussion"? Is the strange story of the body ever told? Unfortunately, not for the twins.


	13. Chapter 13: Changes

Story Thirteen:

Changes

**a/n: **The idea for a story arc was suggested by ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction. Let me explain: this story is a sequel to the chapter, "Discussion", which involved Stan giving the twins the talk. There will be two more sequels to this story. Just to let you know, the next two stories in this arc will be Pinecest. This one isn't, but the next probably will. (Remember, I'm touching on every subject!) All right, uh, I wouldn't recommend this chapter to anyone under twelve, or so, just because of some more mature content. Oh! If you wouldn't mind, check out my new video on YouTube. It's a little piano piece called "Dipper's Theme". Link: watch?v=nSXyoVMSsBs&feature=plcp All right, enjoy!

The most difficult decision of her life suddenly presented itself to her, causing her to gasp and step backwards, as if unable to handle the intensity. _She was out of sweaters._

She was Mabel Pines! Without a sweater, who was she? Another dark-haired girl with braces? A shudder wracked her petite body at the mere suggestion of wandering into public without one of her knitted treasures. Okay, so maybe the closet was still chockfull of them, but she had worn every single garment (thirty-seven!) already. The element of surprise was no longer at her disposal. Her sweaters had become… predictable.

Perhaps today would be a knitting day. No monster hunts for this girl. Just hours of Ducktective, Waddles, pink lemonade through a scarlet curly straw, and a basket of yarn. But, there was still the matter of today's sweater. In desperate need of advice, Mabel turned away from the ridiculously untidy closet (neither could be bothered by organization), seeking her brother's educated opinion. "Hey, Dipper, what sweater should I- -?"

_Wait a minute. _Why was he gawping at her as if she were an unholy descent of the Anti-Christ? Horrible realization struck her like a lightning bolt sent from the vengeful deities above and the girl, trembling, slowly followed her brother's wide eyes. She was naked. Her tea rose flesh gleamed brilliantly in the slits of tangerine sunlight streaming through the blinds. No wonder he appeared to be so… _terrified. _

The moment of silent tension was quickly shattered by Dipper, who quickly covered his eyes- - a fruitless gesture at this point- - and collided with his unmade bed. "I didn't see anything, I didn't see anything!" he exclaimed, despite the fact it was quite evident he had gotten a decent glimpse of _everything. _Mabel, silently cursing her carelessness, stepped into her lavender panties at a breakneck pace and shrugged on the first pullover she stumbled across (her teal dolphin sweater).

Once her silver skirt was securely fastened around her waist, Mabel risked a glance at her sibling. Dipper had buried himself under his patched navy quilt, an assortment of papers covered in theory scribbles, and unwashed socks. Usually, she was the one to hide during points of crisis, but apparently, they had reached a level of calamity untouched by gnomes and big-haired psychos. "Uh… Dipper?" The pillow he was currently living in had no response. "Did you… how much did you see?"

"Nothing?"

"Who taught you how to lie?" Mabel would have poked him in the cheek, or carried out an action equally irritating, but now it just seemed… awkward. "Okay… um, I'm going downstairs now… and I'm fully dressed." With no other discussion to be held on the subject, Mabel fled without looking back.

::::::

"It was like a dream or something. Like the one where you go to school and you're naked. Only it was like a dream where you turn around and you're naked in front of your brother." Mabel continued to pace, her chocolate curls bouncing with every step taken towards the skull shelf and back. "I feel all gross too… he wouldn't even look at me!"

"He has a reason, dude. Seeing your sister naked may not sound so bad, but you guys are twins. It's like… creepy. That's the only way I can really describe it." The redhead spun her cell phone idly on the countertop, having hastily concluded her conversation with Robbie when Mabel hoisted herself onto the stool and slammed her forehead down. "Plus, you guys are… _growing. _You've been run over by puberty and that makes things really weird."

Mabel halted in her tracks, regarding Wendy with a quizzical expression. "P-Puberty? Is that a kind of sandwich?"

Before Wendy could laugh and compliment her on the stunt just pulled, a strange swell of déjà vu washed over her. She hadn't felt this baffled since… Stan had presented the twins with a brash elucidation of the method behind their conception. Judging by the girl's innocence, Wendy could assume without much contemplation that she had never embraced the topic of puberty either. _Oh, God. _"You've never heard of puberty? Seriously? I thought all kids had to take that health class."

"Mom and Dad signed a piece of paper that said they would sue some people if we were in that class or something. Me and Dipper got to play kickball while everyone else was inside," Mabel added with a silver-filled grin, confirming to Wendy that, yes, she and her brother were completely oblivious to _everything. _Apparently, their parents were determined to preserve their ingenuous minds.

Well, Wendy wasn't going to sit by and allow the gods of adolescence strike them down in their prime. She hadn't had a female role model to learn the secrets of puberty from, and the very thought of Mabel attempting to brave that world alone caused shudders to crawl down her spine. Of course, teaching Mabel wouldn't be very difficult, but Dipper was another story. She had little knowledge of male mechanisms below her belt and the only man around the house was…

"Wait here," Wendy instructed Mabel, tousling the girl's bangs as she passed her. The brunette obliged, watching her disappear into the living room. Muted conversation slowly evolved into a heated argument, which suddenly erupted into unrepeatable curses from both sides. Something told her she wouldn't be getting around to her knitting today.

::::::

"Grunkle Stan, I really don't want to talk about what happened. It was just an accident, anyway."

"Look, if Wendy hadn't threatened my life, we wouldn't be having this conversation. But I can't afford to fire her and her father is no picnic to deal with, so we're having it." Stanford Pines lowered himself on Mabel's mattress, almost squishing a content Waddles. The pig squealed with fright and galloped out the door, in search of his master so he could express his misfortune to her through a series of high-pitched oinks. "Besides, it's not even about what happened."

It was only a minor reassurance, but it was enough to lure Dipper out of his blanket nest (what a shame, he was starting to enjoy the corn chip smell). "I didn't even mean to look. I thought she was done getting dressed."

"Worse things have happened. You could have been naked, too." With the subject drawn to a close (well, nobody quite felt up to discussing it after that statement), Stan was faced with a new problem. Describing the concept of puberty to his great-nephew. Oy. He should have just thrown a smoke bomb and ran for the hills. "What do you know about puberty?"

"Grunkle Stan, is this gonna be anything like our _last _Talk?" Dipper implored wearily, his psyche still scared from the ordeal. He hadn't been able to speak to his parents over the phone without picturing the hideous deed they had done. What frightened him more was that Mabel had been whisked away by Wendy.

"Yeah, so prepare yourself, 'cause I'm getting this over with. Unless you'd be willing to accept a bribe." He suddenly recalled the severity in his employee's tone as she explained to him exactly _what _he was being blackmailed into. Besides, why would he part with the perfectly satisfied inhabitants of his wallet? They had been there for years now, no need to disturb them. "No, no… okay. Puberty is this magical time in a young boy's life when his voice gets deep, he loses several IQ points, and his chest gets hairy. Any questions so far?"

"My chest will actually get hairy?" the boy asked hopefully, unconsciously gripping the neck of his favorite orange shirt. What lay beneath the fabric was the literal opposite of manliness. Having flesh that put silk to shame was not an attribute rich with testosterones. Stan only studied Dipper for a moment before coming to an educated conclusion.

"Probably not. Anyway, this magical whatever is when you start wanting to…" Dear God, what was the appropriate phrase? "Wanting to… do what we described in The Talk." As could only be expected, all color drained from his visage, leaving it the color of day-old cottage cheese. "So… are we done here? I've got some sitting around and being old to do."

"I-I… I… " Dipper sputtered intelligibly, his dark eyes wide and somewhat out of focus. "Who-who… who would _want _t-to do that?" he asked shakily, the question Stan had been dodging for what seemed like decades. The elderly man cleared his throat, wishing he had a pamphlet he could toss at the boy. The subject was not suitable for great-uncles.

"Who knows? Something in your brain explodes and then you start thinking about everything sexually. It happens to every guy, but eventually, it sort of fades out and you turn like me." Well, maybe that wasn't the best example. Stan briefly wondered if he could discreetly snap a photograph of Dipper's absolutely horrified expression. A picture would earn him compensation from Wendy and a few more years of laughter.

"Do… Does the same thing happen to Mabel?" Stan hoped Wendy was having an equally uncomfortable discussion.

::::::

"That's all that happens? Really?" The tone of Mabel's voice was not terrified, as her brother's was: if anything, she sounded slightly disappointed. She had contrived several theories about what the mythical "puberty" could possibly be and the few female matters described to her were nothing impressive. The young girl was aware she would not be pancake-chested forever and that the machine the public restroom bore some significance.

"Um, yeah. That's pretty much it. I just wanted to tell you about it in case it happened to ya when there was no one else around. It hit me in the sixth grade and I had no idea what was happening to me." Wendy, a bit nerved by Mabel's nonchalance, swung the refrigerator door open idly and grabbed a cola. "Soda?"

"Thanks." The brunette effortlessly caught the condensation-beaded can, popping the tab open and taking a quick swig. "And thanks for talking to me. I don't know why Mom and Dad didn't want me to know about it. It doesn't sound bad or anything."

"Some parents just like to wait until it happens to talk about it. That's a bunch of crap, though. Kids should be prepared," Wendy explained, burying the toe of her scuffed cowboy boot into the worn linoleum tiles beneath their feet. "I'm glad I was around. What happened this morning is, like, a perfect example. You guys are getting close to puberty and changing is gonna get really awkward."

"I wish it didn't have to get awkward," Mabel sighed with one of her famous pouts; she stroked Waddles's silken coat in the hope it would comfort her. "It's not just the changing stuff. I know things are gonna get weird, but I don't want them to. Dipper's my best friend, and I don't wanna lose him just because our brains are going crazy."

"You don't have to, dude. You guys are twins, you'll always be, like, super close. Just remember that it's okay to change in other rooms." Wendy extended her arm, offering her half-drained aluminum chalice to the frustrated brunette. "Cheers to being okay with awkwardness?"

Mabel, somewhat allayed, tapped her can against Wendy's, the two girls sipping their drinks and sealing the verbal agreement. They sat together in silence a moment, straining for even a whisper of the conversation occurring above them. As if on cue, the sharp retorts of impending footsteps reverberated on the second floor, interchanging with the agonized squeals of the stairwell. After a few moments, Dipper peered into the kitchen, the color in his cheeks having migrated to the tips of his ears. "Hi, Dipper," Mabel greeted casually, "I'm gonna be really mean once a month."

"Hey, Mabel," he replied distantly, "I'm gonna end up like Grunkle Stan."

::::::

"So, we can't change in the same room anymore?"

"We could. As long as we keep our backs turned," Dipper added, shutting his journal and concealing it in the safety of his nightstand's drawer. A glimmering scythe of moon cast a magical glow over the writhing mass of yarn that had entirely obscured any evidence of flooring. The scarlet numbers of the alarm clock blinked weakly in the darkness: eleven-oh-five.

"That's good. I don't wanna break tradition." Mabel smiled warmly against the void, her fingers exploring every stitch on the sweater she had knitted after dinner. It was colorful, professionally bonded with her skilled hands, and reflected her personal observation of the day's events. A mass of arrows, all pointing in different directions, splashed against a blank background. Growing up was a challenge. "Hey, Dipper?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you think we can keep things normal? Like nothing will change?" she inquired optimistically, turning onto her side so she could examine his expression. Mabel had the staggering ability to distinguish her brother's true emotions by the simplest twitch of the eye. But, she had no true advantage. Dipper could read her like a book.

"Yeah. Let's just pretend this day never happened. Nothing changes," Dipper agreed, switching his gaze to his sister. They met eyes in the inky sea separating their beds, communicating what needn't be sullied by words. Soundlessly, Mabel leapt off her mattress and completed the distance, hopping beside him. Blankets were exchanged, pillows were rearranged, and, eventually, the attic bedroom was graced with the soft snores of Mabel. Dipper, only seconds away from sleep, grinned in spite of himself. A bundle of her curls were splayed across his face; the scent of strawberry was overwhelming.

"Nothing changes."

**a/n: **And cut! Went for a sappy little moment there at the end, just to reinforce the fact the next two stories are Pinecest. Hope you enjoyed this piece of fluff, it was fun to write.


	14. Chapter 14: Doubles

Story Fourteen:

Doubles

**a/n: **Another story suggested by ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction and worked upon by yours truly. I've actually been playing around with this kind of idea for awhile, and Guy helped me polish it up. Based heavily upon the episode "Double Dipper", and the clones. I hope you guys enjoy this one!

Fingers over his mouth. Splintered wooden planks beneath his exposed knees, drawing beads of blood like berries. Eyes regarding him as unfit. These scenes were the only registered by his frantic senses, which were scrambling to circumvent suffocation under Five's surprisingly strong grip. Dark spots and jagged forks of lightning cart wheeled drunkenly past his field of vision. A thought surfaced in his hazy mind, electric blue and razor-sharp: _You idiot, you're the one who got yourself into this situation._

"Come on, man. Give it up. You're overpowered," Tyrone conceded, his voice so similar to his own and, yet, so different in its own confidence. Dipper's only response was a pained squeak that his strained throat squeezed out in the hopes of alerting someone he was moments away from death. Five was displaying no sign of ceasing his endeavor to choke him. A shameless tear slid down his cheeks, which were becoming the color of ripe plums.

No… he wouldn't go like this. Not at his… _own _hands. Hand trembling violently, Dipper pushed weakly at Five, resulting in a vital second of freedom. He reached into his pocket and removed a party popper from the decorating he had done mere hours ago. His eyes began to roll about frantically in their sockets. Quick! Teeth on the linty wrapper. Tug, snap, smoke… floating, far beyond his reach… darkness, soft arms open to him… spiraling downwards…

Fresh oxygen surged into his withered lungs, an eruption of cadence in the void that almost carried him away from the Mystery Shack. Gasping like a beached whale, Dipper slid out of Five's grasp with more ease than a half-used bar of soap, landing on his back. Above him, the fire alarms that panicked whenever a pot boiled sent a gentle shower over him and the clones. Cries of protest rose above the crowd, but they quickly dissolved into unintelligible gurgles as they disintegrated. He coughed up a chuckle that was more painful than a frying pan to the chest (yes, he had experienced that, no thanks to Mabel). He had won.

Still trembling, Dipper levered himself into a somewhat upright position in order to survey the wreckage. Pale ponds rippled across the floor, the only evidence there had ever been more than one Dipper Pines in the universe. Even his handicapped double had melted; he had caught a thread of its incoherent shrieks as it was reduced to a soggy puddle. The ordeal was over, though. No more clones vying for control over his life.

"You!"

_Of course… _Tyrone glared at him maliciously, his flesh unblemished and free of water-induced pock marks. He was perfectly fine. Of course. Before Dipper could scramble to his feet and flee towards the bathtub, Tyrone stepped over his brothers to kneel before him. A familiar smirk twisted his lips. Wordlessly, Tyrone exchanged their hats, obliterating the last shred of evidence that Dipper was the only boy woven of blood and bone. _"I'm Dipper, now," _he whispered, flicking the bill of his cap (_it's my hat!) _confidently.

_You knew they would turn against you. You knew you knew you knew… _Struggling to function on the last glimmers of energy left in his body, Dipper reached out to clutch Tyrone's forearm. The clone regarded him with surprise, not to mention slight distaste and a sense of arrogance that was clearly etched on his visage. Who was the weaker one now? "Tyrone… don't do this. What do you even want?"

"I want to live. You killed everyone else, why should I have to die, too? Who says I'm not the better Dipper?" he interrogated bitterly, stunning Dipper into releasing his heated clone. He skidded towards the corridor's opening, prepared to embrace the world as the real Pines boy. Before Tyrone left though, he smiled grimly and raked a finger absently through his chocolate curls. "I'm the real one."

He remained on the floor for a moment, too shocked to properly comprehend what had just occurred. Tyrone had stolen his identity… and, to make matters worse, they were _exactly the same. _Who was the better one? The human? Or… the almost-human?

No time to further contemplate the question. Dipper scrambled to his feet, racing headlong down the lengthy corridor, towards the pulse of the party music. The termite-festooned parapet overlooking the festivities was in view, along with Tyrone, who was surveying the crowd intently. Was he searching for Wendy? Who else could he possibly know?

A horrible thought struck him with the force of a freight train, nearly forcing him to his knees: _Mabel._

His sister wasn't aware of his cloning feint, but she at least held intelligence of the magic copier. Still, how would a girl as inattentive and… _spacey _as Mabel determine which one was her brother? Or what if Tyrone did something to her or-or… dear God, was _attracted to her? _He swallowed uneasily, pretending the scenario had never crossed his mind.

Dipper stumbled onto the platform, extending his arms blindly in the vain attempt to hinder Tyrone. His fingers closed around the neck of a vest, but only for a fleeting second. The chromatic spotlights were too vivid, rendering vision an excruciating and arduous task. Every note uttered by the enormous speakers was a jackhammer into his skull. "Stop!" he yelled, hoarse voice lost under drifts of voices and laughter. "Stop!"

Their dark eyes met for a moment, the mutual hatred almost tangible- - no, it _was _tangible, because Tyrone had his emotional makeup. Suddenly, the double shifted his gaze to the dance floor, where Mabel was currently flailing about in a strangely rhythmic fashion. A pang of guilt jabbed his chest like a shotgun pellet. He should have been there to support her. "She's our sister. She'll know which one."

More terrifying words had never been uttered.

Tyrone leapt over the parapet, which was a good seven feet above the floor. _Can I do that? _Deciding to risk life and limb, Dipper attempted the dive with much less grace than Tyrone. Ow. Rubbing a newly acquired skinned knee, he limped through the mass of bodies, searching for a flash of navy blue or electric fuchsia. What would Tyrone do once he had Mabel? Persuade her he was the good one? Or maybe blackmail him?

Dipper reached the clot of spectators that had formed around Mabel, discovering a blonde bombshell had taken her place. The brunette had strayed from her position in the central ring, her back to him. She was talking to someone…

Suddenly, Mabel followed her companion out of the hubbub, her enormous bow flopping against her head with every step. If it was Tyrone… _if he tries to touch her, I swear, I am gonna kill him. _Motivated by his fear, Dipper cut through the ever-churning scores of partygoers, wishing he was even a few inches taller, just to have a decent view of where Mabel was wandering off to.

The front door was thrown open hastily and he braved the void of the night. A faint chill marbled his exposed flesh with goose bumps; the inky sky was uncorrupted by celestial bodies or evidence of stars. Shapes moved imperceptibly in the dimness, but, thank God, Mabel's vibrant orange skirt was a beacon against the oblivion. Dipper pursued the thin stripe of color, grateful for Mabel's gaudy wardrobe and the fact there was no other light source to dim the vividness of her clothing.

"Mabel! Mabel!"

He wrestled past razor-edged braches, the boughs thirsty for his blood. Roots threatened to ground him, resulting in the loss of a shoe. Oh, well. He'd come back for it. Besides, who really needed two shoes?

The brunette paused uncertainly, casting a glance at the boy who had twined his fingers with her own and was leading her doggedly down the forest's central trail. "Dipper, did you hear that? It kind of sounds like someone's calling my name." Her eyes widened as an unpleasant memory surfaced in her mind. "You don't think those names are back again? Is that why we came down here?"

"Everything's fine, Mabel. It was probably just party noise. Everything's fine," he answered soothingly, expression a portrait of perfect calm. The girl, allayed by his serenity, allowed him to resume his incessant tugging on her hand. If Dipper wasn't wary of what might be lurking in the woods at this malicious hour, then she shouldn't either.

The Dipper she had shared a womb with, however, was anything but composed as he tracked the pair with escalating panic. Where were they going? Why hadn't Mabel reacted to his scream? _Come on, Mabel, you're always talking about our Twin Telepathy or whatever. If you're listening, pick up, pick up! That's not me! Turn around and run! Turn around and run!_

"MABEL!"

The cry escaped him, a sound of disparity and horror. She glanced around her shoulder, gawping senselessly at him as he sprinted towards Tyrone. With a feral growl, Dipper tackled his clone to the pine needle-infused brush, pinning his shoulders to the ground. "What were you going to do to my sister? What were you gonna do to her?"

"She gets to decide! Which one of us is the real Dipper?" Tyrone retorted, squirming and still struggling despite his compromised position. They rolled unceremoniously a few feet, approaching a gentle curve that angled down onto the banks of Rocky Lake. Mabel watched, absolutely befuddled and somewhat frightened by the similitude the two bore to one another. Confusion was soon replaced by courage, which inspired her to pluck a limb from a nearby pine tree and utilize it to pry the two boys apart.

"Hey, I'm the one who took baths with him, I'll decide who the real Dipper is!" Mabel declared, wielding the branch like a sword in case either became feisty. She squinted, her lightly blushing visage a mask of intense concentration. "Hmm… show me the birthmarks." In precise synchronization, they both lifted their chocolate bangs, revealing a patch of lines and dots that strongly resembled the Big Dipper. "Wow. Okay… um, quick, what's my favorite color?!"

"Every color," Dipper and Tyrone replied simultaneously, throwing Mabel for a loop. She scrutinized them once more, hoping to uncover even a thread of evidence that could differ her twin from the imposter.

"Umm… I've got it! On February eleventh, we did the push-up test in P.E. How many push-ups did you do?" No way they would both be able to answer that one.

"…six…"

Mabel gazed at them in utter disbelief, her lips parted as she attempted to articulate the words that could properly convey her frustration. Not a girl to partake to stain her tongue with a blue streak, she fished for a defining question… or… _duh. _They had dissolved the arm with a cup of soda. Which meant the clone would dissolve when they came in contact with liquid. How could she overlook such an imperative fact?

"I'm sorry whichever is the real Dipper!" The brunette extended her arms abruptly, palms bracing the sturdy crevice of their breastbones. With a soft grunt of exertion, Mabel shoved both off the ledge; she watched, fascinated, as they plummeted a brief distance and were immersed by the murky depths. She remained crouched, trembling from the ordeal. Seconds evolved into a minute. How long until the original reemerged?

Bubbles, like silver Christmas ornaments, popped delicately. Dipper broke the lake's undulating surface, gasping and sputtering for oxygen, which he was becoming more appreciative of with every passing day. Cheeks the hue of a newly washed plum, he paddled inelegantly to the shore, where Mabel was rushing to greet him. The moment he was beached, she scooped him up into an affectionate embrace. "I knew it was you!"

"Then why'd you bring up the fact I only did six push-ups?" he implored weakly, shivering as a breeze stirred the foliage around them. Mabel chuckled, which Dipper interpreted as a sign she was not planning on offering him even a semblance of an answer. "At least he's gone. We're never using that copier again."

"You got it, broseph." The brunette squeezed his forearm, a silver-adorned grin spreading across her face. Dipper rescued his cap from the cattails, replacing it with a satisfied sigh. It was reassuring to know he was the only one left. "Come on, I've gotta get back to the party! I'm gonna win the Party Crown!"

It wasn't until he was on the Mystery Shack's front porch that he recognized the dreadful truth.

_Three and Four had never come back._

**a/n: **This is how the episode should have gone. Love the episode, just saying. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed tonight's installment, and I hope you'll all be tuning into "Summerween" on Friday! (Well, if any of you have a leak link, I need it: I'll be really busy on Friday and Saturday!) Oh, and also: "I awoke to the sound of mockery! Where is it? Show me the object of ridicule!"


	15. Chapter 15: Anywhere

Story Fifteen:

Anywhere

**a/n: **I'm back! Guess what, the author actually came up with an idea herself! Got inspired after watching "Tangled" and I had to write it. So… uh, probably some minor Pinecest and general nonsense… plus, my knowledge of history is pretty much nonexistent, so ignore all the mistakes. Enjoy, you guys!

_Those who cannot learn from history are doomed to repeat it._

::::::

_1614_

The lass was positively mad, yet not a soul dared to approach her and irately request she cease her daffy behavior. She danced about carelessly in the center of the marketplace, her pearl-encrusted slippers tossed aside to expose a pair of dainty feet. Frustrated mothers had whisked their children away, while peasants and peddlers observed her with a sort of morbid fascination. Besides, it was not every day the princess danced in the center of town.

The young apprentice gazed at the teenaged monarch with wide, enraptured eyes, breath stolen away by her grace and tranquil expression. She was an exceptionally comely young maiden, her curls silky and unpinned, cheeks ruddy with joy instead of lifelessly pale like the other members of her royal family. Enticed, he crept forward into the clot of mystified spectators, who were gradually discovering their princess was absolutely insane.

She suddenly paused in the center of her twirl, the bodice of her fuchsia gown preventing her gentle curves from being exposed. Seemingly oblivious to the odd glances cast her way, she dashed towards the crowds, arms outstretched. The apprentice gasped as she seized his forearm, dark eyes alit with a sense of merry urgency. "Dance with me," she whispered breathlessly, "come dance with me."

He dropped his sack of ink stamps, stammering mindlessly for a moment before the lass giggled and steered him into the cobblestone center. She began to prance around him, her steps as graceful as the beat of a butterfly's wings. Why would the princess select him to partake in her silly game? What was impressive about a young apprentice with a strange mark on his brow and not a shilling to his name?

"Just dance," she laughed, knitting her delicate fingers between his and whipping him about. He stumbled slightly, but she quickly centered him. Suddenly, he was lost in the moment, orbiting around the princess with his heart in her hand. He was trapped under her spell.

The grimy marketplace vanished, his universe reduced to the cobblestone ring and the flecks of copper twinkling in her coffee corneas. Heart beating like a winged prisoner in his chest, he dared to spin her once, and was rewarded with a mirthful shriek like the sweetest church bells. They moved to the rhythm of the Earth spinning, free as a pair of doves in a midnight sky.

Struck by an unusual flight of courage, he wrapped his arms modestly around her and dipped her to the ground. For a breathless moment, neither spoke or even moved more than an inch from their original position. Whatever had just occurred was the magic that they had been warned about for the past years. Why would anyone fear this emotion? It was something pure and gorgeous blooming in the depths of his soul, a tender rose budding out of a crop of glass and barbs.

"My, you certainly know how to dance," she remarked, straightening as he released her with an uneasy chuckle. "You're the first to ever join me. I must know your name."

He fished around for an answer, his mind rendered blank under the influence of her natural cadence. "M-my name is D-Dipper, your highness," he stammered, too enamored with the maiden to even recognize the fact he had yet to draw his hand away from hers.

The brunette began to giggle uproariously, as if he had made the wittiest pun she had heard in ages. "Sir Dipping Sauce!" she exclaimed, cheeks round and flushed. "Oh, what a name you have! But, I cannot be such a harsh judge, can I? I'm Lady Mabelton," she announced with a polite curtsy, "but I'd much rather be called Mabel, if you don't mind."

"A-All right," Dipper replied meekly, wondering how he had gone from watching the princess dance around from referring to her personally. "I love that name. _Mabel."_

"Anything is better than Mabelton," she agreed with a wide grin. Suddenly, her brilliant beam diminished until all that remained was a faltering twitch of the lips. "My groom… he doesn't call me Mabel. I have asked him many a time, yet he only says Mabelton. Lady Mabelton this, Lady Mabelton that. I have never been so repulsed by my own name."

His heart shattered in a single instant, bringing forth a knee-weakening agony almost too enormous to bear. _Groom. _"Oh… a groom."

"It's an arranged marriage, Sir Dipping Sauce. My parents thought it best for the families to become one. I am to wed Gideon Gleeful in a fortnight." Her expression twisted as she spoke his name, belying the otherwise airy nature of her voice. "This is my last day of freedom. I only wished to dance. I am so pleased to find someone who wanted to dance with me."

Struggling to maintain his brave façade, despite the fact he was dying on the inside, Dipper extended his hand to her. "Shall we continue then? To be free?"

Mabel smiled once more and graciously accepted it, all thoughts of her destiny vanishing. How sweet he was, how…

They parted ways that evening with heavy hearts, a promise to meet again, and the taste of a forbidden kiss burning on their lips.

::::::

_1824_

The first sound to be perceived upon walking into the factory was a horrible shriek of excruciation.

He immediately stiffened, reaching unconsciously for the pitted blade in his battered coat pocket. The weapon, acquired by thievery, had been his only form of defense on the streets, and now that he was to be taken under the care of the factory, he might as well banish it before he was caught with the blade in his possession. The scream, however, quickly changed his mind.

Swallowing uneasily, the thirteen-year-old boy scurried onto the main floor, where the head overseer, Mister O'Malley, regarded him with stark distaste. "You're the chap who only just arrived, ain't ye?" he interrogated dully, the natural spite in his voice enough to strike fear in the boy's heart. He removed his navy blue cap, twisting it between his fingers as he struggled frantically to articulate a cohesive response. "A dim one. Go to your place and get to work, or it'll be you on the whip."

It was then Dipper realized the animalistic howl was the result of another overseer planting his whip on a poor child. The boy, scarcely a toddler, continued to bay as blood cascaded down his vulnerable back. Trembling, he turned away from the scene and trudged to his position, where he wove lengthy fibers on a loom operated by pedals. It was hazardous work, an easy way to have one's fingers extracted devastatingly. But, he had no place else to go, so he remained at the loom.

The labor was tedious and taxing. He had not expected it to be pleasant, but nothing had ever drained him entirely of his energy so quickly. His fingers, swift from seven years of larceny, were already knobbed with calluses and his flesh became the dull grey of asphalt. Only four days on the machine and he had lost his will to continue.

Aside from the incessant hums and grunts emitted by the rows of mechanisms, little sounds rose above the industrial white noise. No conversation was exchanged between the workers, partially out of fear of being reprimanded by the overseers, partially out of being stunned into a state of silent terror. The child's cries had tapered off into a pathetic snuffling and he had returned to his position, spine arched against his bruised flesh.

Dipper briefly lifted his arm from the bar to cough into his sleeve, the soot in his lungs loosening with the force of the constriction. The atmosphere was heavy, suffocating with filth; every inhalation brought forth a combination of smoke and steam. The other boys in his dormitory upstairs wheezed rather than breathed, their lips blackened. It was strange that- -

_"AAAHHH!"_

A quavering note of agony jolted him from his reverie, an operatic resonation that sent chills crawling down his spinal cord. He almost toppled off the pedals, clutching the drawn fibers for support and glancing frenetically around the scope. What he saw was the fuel for nightmares, an image to haunt him for his remaining days.

A girl who couldn't have been a day older than him writhed as the gargantuan loom attempted to devour her lengthy curls. Crimson needles trickled down her brow, effortlessly carving through the ash plastering her otherwise lovely visage. She was panicking, fruitlessly struggling against the lethal machinery. _Why is no one helping her? _

Dipper leapt to the floor and raced to her side, pausing a moment to scrutinize the dilemma presented to him. Her locks were rapidly being entangled in the gears beyond the exterior, torn straight from the roots. "D-Don't move!" he ordered, despite the fact she could perceive nothing but the reverberation of her own yelps in her ears. He fumbled for his knife, shakily extending the blade and chopping at her waist-length chocolate tresses until she was freed.

The factory members were hushed, genuinely frightened by the incident and awestruck by his act of valiance. The brunette was trembling, dark coin-sized spatters of blood striking the stone below their bare feet. Eventually, Mister O'Malley hoarsely demanded they return to their toil, cobalt veins bulging from his meaty neck like cables. An older girl with dark hair and a face wan enough to count every freckle sprinkled over her nose regarded them with wide, fascinated eyes.

Aware of his fingers on the delicate nape of her neck, Dipper cleared his throat anxiously and shoved the weapon back in his pocket. The girl blinked once, her front teeth lodged in her bottom lip as she chewed it frantically. "I-I… are you okay?" he implored, peering over his shoulder once to confirm they were concealed from the overseer.

"I think so," she replied distantly, reaching up to fondle her shoulder-length curls. Her hair, in spite of being hacked short, was surprisingly silky and glimmered under the feeble shafts of sunlight slipping through the paned slits. "I-I didn't know… I was just kind of close to the machine and it… it just started to attack my hair. If you hadn't been there…"

A warmth settled in his cheeks, which were probably blushing a ridiculous hue of pink. "Yeah, the machines are really dangerous. I-I just had my knife with me… lucky, really. Sorry to be rude, but may I know your name?"

"I should probably pay some attention. Oh, I'm Mabel," she greeted, a semblance of a grin gracing her chapped lips. The overseer cast them a malevolent glare, inspiring her to reluctantly return to the apparatus that had almost murdered her. "Sorry, I guess we have to get back to work. Will you come to me after the shift is over?"

"Of-of course," Dipper agreed overzealously, a spark of something alien and near terrifying in its abruptness inciting in his soul. He resumed his labor, newly motivated by the knowledge he would become acquainted with the bright-eyed Mabel after his ten hours of monotonous pain. Just a few more hours… a few more hours until he would see her again…

A smile crept onto his visage and did not abandon him for the remainder of the day.

They met in the garbage-festooned alleyway separating the factory from the apartments. Faded clothes fluttered like weather-beaten flags on the twine strung above them; greasy smoke coiled against an eternally overcast sky. Immediately, they sunk down onto a decaying crate to rest their exhausted bodies, muscles sore and weak. "Well, it's been a very long day."

"They're all going to be long days," Dipper sighed, investing himself into not allowing his knee to brush against Mabel's. She was one of the few females to adhere to the tradition of skirts, and paid dearly for it through scrapes and splinters. Even though his own leg was covered with the patched fabric of his trousers, the very prospect of making contact caused his chest to tighten.

"Even longer when your scalp is bleeding," Mabel retorted with a voice free of mordancy. She craned her neck to the bland heavens, peering through a crop of bangs untouched by the bloodthirsty loom. His heart lunged up his throat as he entirely recognized her uncorrupted beauty. God had created her with a generous amount of cadence, which shone effortlessly through her exterior. "Oh, goodness, I haven't even asked you what your name is! I haven't seen you at factory for long."

"I only arrived here four days ago. I'm Dipper." As he expected, she giggled at the ridiculous nature of his name, which sounded as clunky and graceless as the roaring looms in comparison to hers. _Mabel _swirled off the tongue like a pat of caramel. "Mabel…" She turned to him, her eyes like a pair of copper pennies. "Do you ever think that you'll be able to leave the factory?"

"Someday, we all have to leave it," she replied, tapping the toes of her scuffed work boots together indolently. It was becoming increasingly arduous to ignore the fact he was so handsome, in spite of the childish sprinkle of freckles across his nose and the supple roundness of his cheeks. "I'm only here because Da isn't around anymore and Ma has to feed the baby. I liked to sew, so I came here. A little different than I expected, but it isn't as bad. Well, today wasn't very good, was it?"

"Did it hurt?" Dipper suddenly inquired, immediately despising himself for asking such an idiotic question. The girl tightened her mouth, not out of distaste, but out of contemplation, and shook her head gently. The uneven fringe swept past her slightly bowed shoulders.

"Not so much that I should have screamed like that. I was mostly scared. A few weeks ago, there was this other girl at the factory who worked beside me. Longest blonde hair you could imagine. You could see yourself in it. And every piece of it got destroyed by the machine. She had a good reason to scream though, it must've hurt like the dickens." Mabel shivered in spite of the oppressive heat of the late afternoon beaming down upon the city. "That could have been me."

"It wasn't," he assured her, a hand coming to rest on her shoulder and quickly retreating. "Everything happened just in time. You're okay now." Instead of calming down, Dipper rose to his feet in a sudden act of rage, fists clenching against an anonymous foe. "It's so dangerous in there! I've only been here for four days and I've seen a boy lose his fingers and a girl almost lose her hair! Why don't they do something about it?"

"They should do something about it!" Mabel agreed, admiring his desire for revenge on the harsh factory conditions nobody seemed to acknowledge. "What's stopping them from making the machines a little safer? And the air a little cleaner? And the factory a little prettier?"

They fell silent, exchanging a glance that confirmed what they wished for were little more than flights of fantasy. Mabel, unable to contain herself, laughed aloud, a sweet sound that was so infectious, Dipper found himself joining in on the mirth. Together, they brought a sliver of joy back into their otherwise dismal lives.

The church down the block emitted seven thunderous peals that seemed to shake the ground beneath them. Mabel noticeably wilted, her front teeth accepting her lower lip to chew on for condolence. "I have to go home. Ma needs me to take care of the baby so she can sleep sometimes. Will you be here tomorrow?"

"And the day after that," Dipper said, cradling her chin in the hopes of lifting her spirits. She grinned, face drawing towards his intrepidly until their mouths met in a sloppy moment of passion. A sensation not unlike being struck repeatedly by lightning wracked his body, eerie, yet strangely addicting. He tenderly cupped the silky curves of her face, wishing they could spend the rest of their lives here.

Eventually, Mabel had to pry herself away and scurry to the end of the narrow alleyway. She twisted to him, expression severe. "Will you be here tomorrow?"

He smiled and lifted his hand to seal the verbal pact. "And the day after that."

::::::

_1912_

_"The RMS Titanic is unsinkable."_

Oh, yes, the whole bloody ship was a god, omnipresent and too well constructed to ever be drowned. Why, this was but a minor pitfall in an otherwise immaculate voyage. They would arrive in New York soon, there was no doubt. As eleven-year-old Mabel Pines waded down the partially-flooded corridor, she found herself aiming bitterly sarcastic comments at the very boat (ah, no, it was a ship) she was aboard. Everybody on this green Earth had determined the Titanic was unsinkable and now, it was slipping effortlessly into the sea.

She rounded a corner and realized with great unease that there was not another passenger in sight. Granted, she was on one of the lowest decks, but there should have been at least _someone. _Mabel lifted the hem of her heavy skirt, pallid legs churning through the frigid water surging below her. Good God, it was cold. She briefly wished she had brought along her tattered shawl.

The incident had occurred in stages. She had awakened to a dull thump that did not seem to be perceived by her mother, or the other two occupants of their undersized cabin. Panic broke out after a stewardess arrived to announce that the third-class passengers were to report to the upper deck. There had been so much shoving, so much screaming. She had fallen during the chaos, and witnessed stars brighter and more gorgeous than the ones visible from the sun deck. When she awakened from her odd slumber, everyone was gone and there was a knee-high level of the ocean flowing past her.

_Unsinkable! _Mabel snorted in spite of herself; the sound dissolved into a muffled whimper as the rows of bulbs flickered threateningly. Oh, where was everyone? And where was she? It was such an enormous vessel… What if she could not escape in time? The very suggestion sent shivers coursing through her already frozen insides.

Mabel approached a rickety stairwell that sprawled onto the next floor and forced the ember of optimism to catch fire. There might be escape after all. Besides, how long could she have been asleep? The brunette ascended the steps hastily, stumbling once, twice, over her bulky boots. No matter. She would be reunited with her mother sh- -

The Gate.

Incensed by the unfair measures enforced against the "less cleanly" third-class passengers, Mabel gripped the latticework of iron and rattled it wildly. She was not some animal in a cage! She was a human being! Why should she have to drown? The Gate held steadfast, admitting nothing but a unremitting flow of water that cascaded past her ankles to fill the pond rapidly enclosing the stairwell. Unsinkable! _Unsinkable!_

She should have never disembarked on this voyage. They had received an invitation from her grandmother, who currently resided in Rhode Island with a man named Calvin that fed her tablets and grape juice every morning, to stay with her. Her mother had spent the last of their savings on two passes to America from England, where they would reestablish their fractured lives.

Mabel had been reluctant to accompany her mother, even though she was aware she had no voice on the matter. Their cottage in England was lovably shabby, a wonderful location to spend a childhood. Why cross an ocean to live with her lemon-mouthed, silver-eyed grandmother? The elderly woman despised Mabel for no apparent reason, aside from a general loathing for free spirits. "Stupid Grandmother!" the brunette hollered sharply, striking The Gate with the projected force of her rage. "Stupid _boat!"_

"Hold on!"

Panting heavily, she lifted her head to the hallways extending either way from the third-class deck entry. A figure was racing towards her, imbuing her with tentative hopefulness. Perhaps she hadn't been forgotten! Mabel rattled The Gate to alert her anonymous rescuer that the icy water was swiftly deluging the room. If she were to survey the depths accumulating below, she might have noticed the bodies gently buoying beneath the surface, including that of her own mother's.

A young boy, possibly her own age, splashed clumsily to The Gate; his eyes were wide, somewhat glassy, with fear. The brass buttons and leather shoes evidently decreed his class: _first. _Instead of regarding her with the condescension of the ordinary wealthy passenger, he instantly slammed his small frame against the iron frame. It clattered stridently, but held fast. "Just-just hold on!" he exclaimed, rummaging frantically through his breast pocket and withdrawing a fountain pen.

Working madly, yet skillfully, he jammed the pen's nib into the lock and levered the mechanism's insides. Mabel, recognizing his plan, assisted by yanking fervently at The Gate, her knuckles bone white. Their combined efforts ultimately vanquished the entryway, which complied with a weary groan. She wriggled through the narrow space, her chocolate curls sealed to her round cheeks in curlicues. He grabbed her hand and led her down the corridor, their noisy footsteps rounding against the pearly walls.

"Are you okay?" he uttered between shallow gasps, refusing to unlace his fingers from hers. It seemed incredibly unfair for her to be locked in and fated to death by the ship's crew. What really distinguished the classes?

Out of breath, Mabel nodded in response, concentrating more on escaping drowning than whether or not she was a little shaken by her experience. They navigated the halls by straggling against the current, which was determined to sweep them off their feet and drag them back towards the ship's bottom. The higher they ascended, the chillier the atmosphere became. Goose pimples rippled across her milky flesh.

"H-here." As they skidded to a halt just outside the café doors, he shrugged off his woolen jacket and arranged it on her shoulders before she could object. "It's cold outside."

"Thank you," Mabel replied with a grateful smile, worming her arms through the thick sleeves. He blushed pleasantly, although it could have been the oppressive cold, and led her through the halfway-decimated café. All around them, dishes shattered against the carpet, their shards sliding precariously towards their feet. Shrieks and groaning wood resonated throughout the inky night. Mabel blinked her tears away, wishing she was back in England with her knitting and dolls and storybooks.

"They're putting women and children in the lifeboats," he explained, hooking his arm under her shoulder to prevent her from losing her footing on the ice chunks. The duo slid onto deck, where it became apparent the boat was descending more rapidly than they predicted. Hysterical screams escaped them as they plummeted down the slippery angle of the tilting boat.

Mabel shut her eyes and allowed the shrieks to rake at her lungs. Besides, what more was there to do? She would be dead within seconds, be it by striking an obstacle at a record-shattering speed or at the cruel hands of the sea. The newspapers would declare the worst tragedy in decades, a catastrophe to never be surmounted in this century. One one-thousand, two two-thousand, three three-thousand…

A numbness encompassed her petite body, momentarily interrupting her intake of oxygen. She hovered on the precipice of unconsciousness, compromised between the opposing voids that both desired to claim her as their own. Mabel struggled obstinately, fighting to break the surface and see the stars, one last time. She wouldn't give up that quickly. Not yet.

Sensation returned like an ebbing tide; frost surged through her veins. Saltwater burst from her drawn lips. She paddled about blindly, her throat constricting in the desperate attempt to purge her lungs of the remaining water. Someone gripped her wrists, preventing her from flailing around any further. Tears spiraled down the bridge of her nose.

"It's okay, it's okay," he rasped, the glint in her eyes the only source of radiance in the darkness. "It's okay… it'll all be over soon. Shh, calm down, it's okay…"

Mabel clutched his shoulders, pressing her forehead against his chest for a brief moment. His heart fluttered maniacally behind the prison bars of his ribcage. _It'll all be over soon… _spending her last minutes with a perfect stranger in the middle of the ocean with the most spectacular vessel ever manufactured splitting behind her. "When will it end?"

"It'll all be over soon," he assured her, stroking her heaving back and kicking furiously in order to elude the undulating waves. "It will end soon. It-it will end soon…"

"M-Mabel." She glanced up at him, teeth gritted to prevent them from chattering in her jaw. "My-my name is Mabel." Was she actually willing to introduce herself as they lay moments from death? His lips twitched feebly, the faltering line of a grin developing.

"Dipper."

"Dipping Sauce." A weak giggle whistled through her clenched jaw, and she curled her fingers into his shoulder blades. "Wh-where were you g-going?"

"N-New York. Father has b-business there…" Needles penetrated his legs, excruciation lacing up his shins and settling in his lower pelvis. A pained gurgle bubbled in his throat. "A-and you, M-M-Mabel?"

"My mother and I were going to Rhode Island to stay with my grandmother. Th-this is actually better than v-visiting her." They laughed uproariously, but frenziedly, and the merry sound quickly died away. The moon grinned down on them, casting a silver scythe over the rippling ocean surface. "It-it's so cold, Dipper… it's so cold…"

Consciousness became elusive and so arduous to maintain. Why keep going? Why keep going keep going why keep why why keep going? Rime clung to their eyelashes; lips were navy and ears were waxy with frostbite. Mabel realized her male companion was barely in touch anymore, which suddenly frightened her. She didn't want to die in the darkness. "Wait, Dipper, just wait! It'll all be over soon, remember? It'll be over soon."

"Hmm…" A lulling melody was upon them, the sweet craft of an orchestra with no greater joy than music. Boy, what a pretty girl. What a pretty, pretty girl…

"Dipper, please, it'll be over soon," Mabel cried, "it'll be over soon." She had to divert him from the open arms of death, steer him away from the heavenly light spoken about so often. "If-if you ever had a son, wh-what would you name him?"

"St-Stan."

::::::

_2012_

A boy and girl lay side by side in bed, secure in their attic bedroom. They were sheltered from the past, present, and future, fates as pliant as a lump of clay. No need to worry about arranged marriages, factory conditions, or freezing to death.

_But the secrets of the forest would present themselves soon and they would make history all the same._

**a/n: **Ah… this is what happens when I try to make up my own ideas… my brain. Excuse me while I go slam my hand in a desk drawer. It's late and I'm tired and I was sick during a lot of this, so… I think I'll go hide under the blankets for awhile, so long.


	16. Chapter 16: Guidelines

Story Sixteen:

Guidelines

**a/n: **I'm sorry if I've been ignoring any story requests through reviews. From now on, I'll try my best to cover what you guys want. I just like it better when you send it through PM, so we can have a better opportunity to discuss the plot and what exactly you want. Anyway, this story is another one I came up with by myself, and it's more… out-there than my other stories. Hopefully, you'll enjoy it though!

Rule #1:

Never bet anything you hold near to your heart in a game of Cracker-Chip Poker. Mabel always wins. _Always._

_(It's unfair too, because she doesn't the know the rules to it. The potentiality of cheating and/or witchcraft is being looked into. Until then, keep all valuables hidden.) _

_(Mabel: Aren't we playing Go Fish?)_

Rule #2:

When he realized it was becoming a problem, Stan put a Swear Jar in the living room. So, if you feel a blue streak coming on, take it outside or lose five dollars.

_(Wendy ended up losing forty-five dollars when she stubbed her toe on the end table. It's amazing how extensive her vocabulary is. Stan would have fired her if he didn't make so much money off of it)._

Rule #3:

The fireplace is strictly forbidden! No matter how cold it gets, just shrug on a jacket and deal with it.

_(The Mystery Shack is about a century old, and will literally burn to the ground if even the microwave gets a little too warm.)_

Rule #4:

No more monster hunts after the sun goes down (looking at you, Dipper).

_(The forest is a silent killer. Or a silent Giver-of-Splinters. The kid is held together with Band-Aids and duct tape.)_

Rule #5:

Don't consume pork in Mabel's presence, or she'll climb onto the roof with Waddles and won't come down until you've "cleansed the house of the unholy swine remains".

_(Waddles doesn't seem to mind, though. Besides, Mabel's fed him pepperoni pizza before, which basically makes him a cannibal.)_

_(Mabel *covers Waddles's ears*: How DARE you talk about his pig brethren in vain!)_

_(Coming from the girl who doesn't know what gumption means.)_

Rule #6:

If Robbie starts to hang around too often, just bring in Soos. That skinny-jean creep will be gone before you can say "ruckus".

_(Robbie once dared to make comments about Wendy in Soos's presence, and the big guy threatened to whack his head off with his broom if he didn't leave.)_

_(Still bid him a cheerful farewell, though. Gotta love Soos.)_

Rule #7:

No coffee for those under fifteen! Unless you enjoy ambulance rides, sedatives, and butterfly nets, stick to the cola and hide your cappuccinos from the little ones.

_(Mabel decided to give coffee a try and ended up on the roof, screaming that she was Super Waddles's side-kick. When she cannon-balled off, she landed on Dipper, who had his arms spread valiantly and was screaming requests that would put Third Eye Blind to shame.)_

_(Only two broken bones, for the win.)_

_(Dipper:… how much longer until we go back home?)_

Rule #8:

Unless you're a huge fan of Icelandic girly pop music, stay away from the bathroom at eight-thirty. That's when Dipper showers… and performs BABBA for all the world to hear.

_(Of course, he'll deny it all, but it's best to have a video camera on hand if you're trying to fill your blackmail folder.)_

_(He will become your indentured slave if it means that video stays off the Internet.)_

Rule #9:

No. More. Hide. And. Seek. Ever. Again.

_(The twins and Wendy conspire together to turn the house into a freakin' labyrinth. Dipper has a map of the shack, and he knows all the best hiding places. Mabel can fit in the smallest spaces, such as behind the space heater and once under the sink. She's good, too. Doesn't even leave a trail of crumbs or glitter.)_

_(Wendy plays dirty. She hides on top of the refrigerator and just when you're about to give up, she jumps down with the battle cry of "REGRETTING NOTHING!")_

_(Sorry, nobody has enough health insurance for the game.)_

Rule #10:

The golf cart is only for adults and if your sister has been kidnapped by gnomes.

_(*Cough* Wendy *cough* if you need a ride *cough* just get Robbie to drive you *cough* make that egotistical van worthy of something *cough*)_

_(Hmm, must be coming down with something.)_

_(*High-fives Dipper*)_

Rule #11:

No more hiding hairbrushes from the girls. Not even kidding.

_(Mabel and Wendy invest mountains of effort into maintaining their waist-length locks. No hairbrushes? Chewbacca and Hagrid flee at the sight of them.)_

_(It's worth it when they chase whoever hid their brushes with loaded dart guns. As long as it's not you.)_

_(Bruises, bruises everywhere.)_

Rule #12:

Stan, no more saying "this is what the ladies want" in the presence of your relatives/co-workers.

_(You made your great-niece-and-nephew laugh themselves into unconsciousness.)_

Rule #13:

Keep the toothpaste AWAY from Mabel. She eats it like candy and we can only call Poison Control three times a year.

_(Wendy *throwing Mabel into the backseat*: Don't worry kid, I've seen Tallegada Nights, like, a million times!)_

_(These are not comforting words.)_

Rule #14:

Hey, no making fun of Stan's secret passion for old lady, boring, black-and-white movies.

_(That's my job!)_

Rule #15:

Beware early morning musical numbers.

_(Mabel enjoys starting her day with her startlingly off-key rendition of "Don't Stop Believing".)_

_(If it comes to a point where you have the urge to rip the heads off small animals, just steal Dipper's ear plugs. Everything will work out for the best.)_

Rule #16:

Be sure you consult the peephole before opening the front door. The Pines family have made quite a few enemies over time.

_(Mabel's "Go Away, Gideon" sign isn't exactly effective.)_

_(Stan has plenty of smoke bombs on hand if it is the Tax Collector or Lazy Susan. She never did catch on that he wasn't interested.)_

_(Stan: Hey, this is what the ladies want.)_

_(*Somewhere deep in the house, two twelve-year-olds laugh until they can no longer breathe and pass out.*)_

Rule #17:

While we're on the subject of Gideon, no more pulling scissors on Dipper and saying "I'm gonna make sure you never lie to me again".

_(It is no longer funny, Mabel. Not that it ever was.)_

_(Especially when he crams himself under the bed and won't come out. You know how hard it is to lure a twelve-year-old boy out of hiding? The corn chips worked eventually.)_

Rule #18:

If there's an emergency, you're better off with Band-Aids, Tylenol and Mabel's Smile Juice (grape juice, lemonade, and candy corn).

_(The police aren't very effective. And by very effective, I mean they do nothing.)_

_(Also, Stan has no insurance. He left a stack of Stan Bucks and an "I Owe You" to the orthodontist when Mabel popped her bracket.)_

Rule #19:

The following words are forever banned from the household: Pacifica, Slenderman, bacon, hey you guys watch this, Gideabel, why you ackin' so cray-cray, Trickster, pork, Norman, Tyrone, Smile Dip, Little Dipper, taco, peach dumpling, Sherlock.

_(Does this even need a caption?)_

Rule #20:

Your primary concern is to sit down, strap in, and prepare yourself for the blatant insanity and affection of the Mystery Shack gang.

**a/n: **This was just a little fluffy piece to tide you guys over so I can get started on a serious, dark, and longer story for Halloween. Like I said, fire away with questions, and I hope you enjoyed these silly little rules!


	17. Chapter 17: Awaken

Story Seventeen:

Awaken

**a/n: **Hey, everyone! **This is a story for Halloween, which, of course, means it is going to be darker and more creepy than the stuff I usually write. Death, gore, violence, and frightening material follows. If this upsets you, I would not suggest reading any further. **Anyway, this idea was suggested by ThatGuyWhoReadsFanfiction a few weeks back, and I hope you guys all enjoy it!

He leaned against the enormous shovel he unearthed from mountains of rusted gardening tools and the gnarled skins of ancient hoses in the shed, panting heavily. Rain peppered his vulnerable body like shotgun pellets; the sodden ground suckled at his black rubbers, yet he limped into the cemetery, undeterred.

This was wrong. Very, very wrong. The mere indication of disturbing the dead was so horrifyingly repulsive to some, he would be ostracized from the community if his endeavors ever reached the ears of the newspapers (or the town tabbies). It was a blatant manipulation of God's law, something he had been instructed not to toy with for years on end. Being discovered would ultimately obliterate the last shreds of life in his hollow, indifferent shell.

…_but if it worked…_

The Gravity Falls Cemetery was not a pleasant location, especially on a stormy midnight. Many headstones dated back to an epoch where living to be fifty was considered a near unfeasible accomplishment, while the more recent graves were genuinely disturbing, considering he had become acquainted with the dearly departed. As he ambled past them, he trembled at the recollection of the dead: the local kook, Old Man McGucket; Gideon's mentally fractured mother, Linda Gleeful; one of Wendy's old friends, Thompson. He briefly contemplated whether or not he could employ the spell on the others… he could bring joy to the mourning widows, the miserable orphans, the other half of the twin.

Right. He had to focus on the situation at hand. The blade of his tool scuffed lightly against the crabgrass threatening to swallow the tombstones. Would his limited arm strength be enough to turn over that much earth? How deep did they leave her? She was afraid of the dark.

Her headstone was perched elegantly on a slight outcropping that ascended into the hill reserved for the wealthy and celebrated. It was a gorgeous piece, marble and the epitaph carved with a steady hand, her name rimmed with bronze. He recalled the surprise of how much money his notoriously tight-fisted great-uncle had splurged in order to grace her death with the beauty she had brought to his own life. The boy, suddenly overwhelmed, collapse in front of the marble, the handle of his spade gouging bloody ruts from the tender flesh of his palm. A tongue of lightning speared the sky, casting an eerie glow on the name etched into the stone.

_Mabel Catherine Pines_

_Cherished Daughter, Sister, and Friend_

_1997-2012_

The day had been mild, sweet, balancing on the cusp of autumn. But, the oppressive heat of the church altar and cemetery had decimated the cool peacefulness that had been established by God for his beloved sister. After filing out of the graveyard, a parent on either side, he had taken a walk that evolved into a hike around the town he called his home every summer for three years. Moving numbed the pain, numbed _everything, _leaving him the emotionless husk that was currently jabbing his shovel into the earth and grinning darkly at the murky blood that burbled to the surface.

_"yeah it sounds awesome we should go check it"_

He halted his efforts a brief moment, bands of stress warming around his ribcage. The sweater secured beneath his navy jacket glowed faintly in the oblivion, a sprinkle of jewel stars forming the constellation he had been named for. It had been knitted with care, a gift from his twin when he fractured his skull and left wrist two years ago rescuing Waddles from a ravenous herd of werewolves. He pressed the oversized neck to his nose, inhaling the lingering fragrance of her vanilla sunshine body spray. Just a memory to tide him over for the feast.

_"be careful the floor is kind of rickety and"_

Discovering the spell had been the truly arduous aspect of the process. Oh, sure, there was the initial struggle of moral, will I, won't I, what's right and what's wrong and who really cares? Really though, would he just leave her in a cruel, depressing darkness? Sometimes, you have to follow your heart instead of your conscience. Once the decision had been settled upon though, he buried himself _(ha ha) _in Book Three, exhausting insomnia nights wandering through the dense forest in search of the spell. His parents assumed he escaped the attic every night to clear his head on the roof and offered him as much breathing room as necessary to recover from the emotionally-wrenching blow.

_"hey did you hear that it sounds kind of"_

It had required three days effort to uncover the incantation, which, according to his journal, would be engraved into "the weeping widow". If Mabel had been there, she would have deciphered the clue within seconds, before declaring she wanted a butterscotch candy (he had to assume responsibility for her sugar intake after another particularly ugly Smile Dip scenario). Meanwhile, he scoured the entire town and only realized what "the weeping widow" was by the photo in her scrapbook. The angel grave. It opened a secret passageway that was once occupied by unfathomable national treasures.

_"can we please go home this feels dangerous please"_

The glossy surface of her coffin glimmered beneath a blade of pearly moonlight, nearly blinding him. He dropped the spade, suddenly frightened by the prospect of disturbing her eternal rest. What if she was angered? Would her spirit- -

"No! Don't psyche yourself out," he growled, kneeling onto the lid of the-the… _prison cell. _Too much had been dedicated to this plan, and he _never neglected a plan. _With a grunt, he slipped his fingertips into the crack separating the cap from the casket's body and wrenched at the bone-crushingly heavy slide of granite. Apparently, somebody expected the dead to escape their stone beds. How was the Earth still afloat with all these coffins in the ground?

_"help please help can't get"_

Wheezing, he glanced up to the inky heavens through the fanged lip of the hole, pleading blindly for assistance from God. "Just one thing," he rasped, swiping his dark bangs out of his eyes, "gimme this one thing."

**He **complied. The casket screeched open, instantly exuding the horrific odor of miasma. He stumbled against the crumbling slope, mouth agape as he struggled to drag in a breath of uncorrupted oxygen. Correction: _This _was the most challenging aspect of the plan. Gore was just fine and dandy in those horror flicks he snuck after midnight, but in reality, it was wrong, ghastly. He hadn't been able to dissect a field mouse last year in Biology (okay, so he passed out the second he received his innocent little cadaver). Why did he think- -

_"oh god mabel please where did you"_

"Stop!" The voice was gravelly and cruel, not belonging to a fifteen-year-old boy who hoarded BABBA tapes and brushed his sister's hair every morning. It was the voice of a beast. To soothe his frazzled nerves, he hummed the lyrics to a lullaby their parents would sing to them back in the innocent days when they shared a bedroom. _Hey there, sweetheart, it's getting late… the Man in the Moon is trying to sleep, so get yourself a star and join him._

_There she was._

Three-and-a-half days had not altered her body significantly, but he was so accustomed to her radiant visage that any minor change was jolting. Her eyes, once jewel-like, were little more than haloes of coal sinking into the oblivion of their sockets. The twin coins of blush had vanished, her flesh the color of day-old cottage cheese and mottled with rainbows at the joints as they began to swell. Somebody at the funeral home had meticulously styled her hair for the open-casket viewing (he had turned his back), but already, her luxurious curls had become coarse. If he were to gingerly roll her onto her side, he would reveal an enormous wound from where her skull struck the rubble-laden ground beneath the steeple's rotted floor.

Dead or not, it was his precious sister. There was no legitimate reason to be terrified of her in this state; his only responsibility was to be respectful and tender. He lovingly stroked her ice cream cheek, even though chills wracked his spinal cord. The last threads of subconscious clinging to the barren battlefield in the deepest recess of his mind chided him hoarsely: _It's still a dead body and you're touching it and that's wrong._

Whatever.

Enthusiastic to execute the ceremony he had rehearsed and prepared for all day (and to mixed results, not everyone can understand a troubled teen), he rose to his feet. With an effortless extension of the hand, he retrieved his abandoned backpack, drawing close to the front of his jacket. Inside was his precious journal, along with the objects required for a successful reanimation. No lightning needed.

His journal, her scrapbook, the knife. He flipped through the pages, quickly locating the spell he had scrawled zealously onto a fresh page, along with a catalogue of the symbols compared to others in the book. Here it goes. No turning back. Standing at the foot of his sister's coffin, Dipper Alexander Pines raised his hands to his chest, folding them neatly as if praying. "Gravity and the great will fall, but all shall be lifted; for whatever reason, this blessing you have been gifted. Blood-stained hands can become pure; if you are willing to sacrifice once more."

Fingers quivering violently, he wrapped his hand around the scarred handle of a kitchen knife that had been washed in cheap dish soap far too many times. He hadn't purposely split his own skin since doing so to declare himself the blood brother of a boy he had met at sleep away camp as a child (Norm or something). "First, the blood of the grieving heart." Teeth clenched, Dipper sliced through the callused flesh of his palm. "G-given through the means that drove them apart."

He lifted her head gingerly, pressing the fresh gash against the hideous fracture. Blood seeped into what remained of her tissue. Feeling faint, Dipper leaned against the damp walls of the grave, investing an enormous sum of energy into not collapsing. "Next, a trinket of immeasurable worth; a memory to accelerate the process of rebirth."

The scrapbook, a beautiful anthology of their various adventures in this twisted, yet magnificent, town, was meticulously arranged in her stiff hands. He recalled with a strained smile the afternoons she spent on the bedroom floor, surrounded by craft glue and ribbon and glitter and construction paper, devoted to her work. She was always passionate, passionate about everything.

The ritual was drawing to a close; the atmosphere tingled with an electricity that stirred the hairs sprouting on his neck. Eager to conclude this macabre fest, Dipper tilted his head to the patch of overcast sky above him. Droplets cascaded down the curve of his nose. "These gifts have been delivered, the words have been spoken; bonds will now be repaired, ties once broken. But for every soul returned, another will be taken; this is the life to be returned and the spirit be forsaken! The dead shall rise, dark eyes will shine; NOW LIFT THE SPIRIT OF MABEL CATHERINE PINES!"

The world stopped and- -

A horrible, fist-clenching shriek ricocheted throughout the cemetery, having crawled from a splintered soul on shattered legs. From the ledge of the grave disturbed, a blossom-pink cadence shimmered in great ribbons into the inky oblivion. Slowly, the radiance evolved into a rusty hue that would remind any passing bystander of blood. A laugh, slightly deranged, invaded the night.

Dipper offered his hand to the waxy, searching fingers, his heart fluttering madly against the bars of his ribcage. Even though he felt sick and remarkably weak, joy swelled in his chest like a wave breeching on the rocky shores of some forgotten bay. The blind eyes darted madly around their sockets, the chapped lips parted to accept oxygen. "Hey, Mabel. How are you?"

The brunette knitted her fingers with her brother's, eyes still blank and unseeing. "D-Dipper?" His beam diminished considerably. The voice emitted from her fluttering throat was not the sweet, lisping, tone he had been anticipating. There was something vaguely gravelly about it, almost… _evil. _"Is that you?"

"It's me, Mabes. Can you see me?" Despite his best intentions, he was panicking, finally fearing the consequences of his blatant rape of the laws of nature. Mabel was alive, but how changed was she? "Mabes, Mabes, look at me. Look at me." Those wild eyes wheeled about frantically, constraining him from descending into fitful hysterics. "Do you… remember?"

"I fell… why can't I see? And where am I?" Rivulets surged down her milky cheeks, which had yet to retain any color. In fact, aside from at least a dim conscious light in her corneas, the symptoms of death had yet to vanish. _She's blind. Why does she have to be blind? _"Wait… it was dark for so long, and then there was the light and the voices. What happened to me?"

"Mabel… you died. B-But, I brought you back, and you're gonna be okay!" Dipper added optimistically, a watery grin flexing his lips. "You're gonna be okay, Mabel. You don't have to worry about anything anymore. You're back and that's all that matters."

"I'm back," Mabel repeated hollowly, "I died and you brought me back. The church floor…" He tensed: he had been clandestinely praying her memory of the incident would be terminated. "It was so thin and rickety. You said my name, said it so many times. And then they put me here. How'd you wake me up?"

"It-it was a spell! The second after the funeral, I-I started thinking about ways to get you back and there was a clue about a spell and-and it was on that angel grave that opened up Trembly's tomb. It was so simple, Mabel, we could do this to others! All it takes is a little blood, and something precious- - I brought your scrapbook!- - and reading the spell." Realizing he had been rambling, Dipper drew his fingers up the smooth, but frigid, silk of her forearms. "You're here. You're here."

If he hadn't been so enamored with the fact his deceased sister was alive and _well, _Dipper might have noted the ripple of scarlet that swelled through her blind eyes. Once she blinked though, only dark brown remained. She was baffled and frightened by the rude awakening her consciousness had suffered. Fragments of memories surfaced, seemingly arbitrary: the Halloween they dressed as Superman and Supergirl, respectively; walking to school on winter days, suffocated by scarves; her forehead striking a totem pole, mind lost to the grip of insanity

_(that's what's happening now god I'm going insane it won't get out HELP SOMEO)_

until the world blurred and she had her precious pet back.

Mabel hadn't the slightest as to how she should react. Her core was vacant, a landscape devoid of emotion. Despite what her vital signs now reported, she was still dead inside. The voice was back, the charming, sweet voice ricocheting throughout her cavern-like insides. Something nasty was slithering through her brain, ink-black and reptilian, almost like a worm (and she absolutely despised worms). Then it sunk its needle fangs into her and- -

"It's time to go back home." Cold, unfeeling, indifferent. What had happened to the warm, sunny girl he had shared a life with? Had death affected her so greatly that her very personality was warped beyond recognition? "We need to go back home."

"Okay, we can go back. Mom and Dad are there, it's gonna be kind of hard breaking this to them, but I think they'll accept it eventually." Dipper straddled his arm beneath her own, patiently guiding her into a standing position. She swayed a moment, brittle legs quaking violently. "I'm gonna climb out first, and get you out, okay?"

Mabel nodded absently, her gaze unfocused and refracting with a ruby glow that nerved him instead of comforted. He gripped the ledge, panting as he dragged his enervated body back onto the moist earth; the aroma of watered grass struck him in damp waves. Angled on his knees, Dipper reached into the abyss until his hands met Mabel's and he yanked her towards the slope. As they initiated the precarious process of freeing her from her grave, frightening thoughts bubbled in his mind at a breakneck pace.

_Who is this girl? Why was my sister taken away? She never hurt anyone in her whole life and didn't deserve any pain or suffering. And my only way of seeing her again makes her blind and… different. What happened? Why does it have to be this way? If I had that fucking time measure, I swear… I'd go back, I would never open that steeple door._

She handed him his backpack, which had been repacked with his journal and her scrapbook _(what's missing?) _Once both feet were planted firmly on solid ground, Dipper led her away from her glimmering headstone. He inhaled deeply, feeling much more free without the four walls containing him and the oppressive sensation of earth surrounding him. "You have it again, Mabel. Life."

"Life. Life again." Her juvenile repetition of key words was starting to chill him. The pitted peak of something glinted mysteriously in her displaying dress, a collared and generic piece without a glittery stroke of Mabel. Voice was there, crawling into every space, between joints, those masses of capillaries like writhing worms (and she absolutely despised worms). "Hey, Dipper?"

"Yes, Mabel?"

"What was the funeral like?"

Words hitched in his throat, tangled and gnarled. He supposed it was a natural question, but everything was askew with her. "Well, everyone came. And there were flowers. Lots of flowers. Some priest who hardly knew you commenced everything, made it official. They… put your body out. You would've hated it, really."

Her overgrown fingernails tapped lightly on the handle, plinking like a leaking faucet onto a tin cup. What was her name again? Something funny and sweet-tasting. She had forgotten what sweetness was. Candy would probably dissolve her tongue like acid. Who was he? The victim? The villain? Whoever he was, Voice was not pleased with him; in fact, Voice sneered whenever Anonymous opened his mouth. Voice regarded him as a worm (and she absolutely despised worms).

"Mabel, I- -"

The edge of the blade Dipper had utilized mere minutes ago to splice his palm (it stung like lemons and salt, but who really cares?) effortlessly caught his jaw line, looping drunkenly through his flesh. "AUUGH! Mabel, what the hell?!" Blood the same hue as her eyes dribbled down his neck, an invitation for vampires (they had fought them off last summer, no more than common pests nowadays). "Mabel… what happened to you?"

Voice was excited, feverish as it grabbed her reins and threw caution to the wind. She wasn't quite aware of anything anymore, aside from the fact she had just _hurt someone, _which was wrong, no matter what the circumstance. The urge to apologize and extend her sorrow to him was great, but Voice easily surmounted her silly little needs. Who was she again?

He had made a horrible mistake. Why had he believed there was a successful process to reverse his horrible deed? Combating a fainting spell, Dipper removed his hand from the raw wound, watching as his sister withdrew the knife and ambled expressionlessly towards him. She was going to murder him. _But for every soul returned, another will be taken. _He had been the one to possess Mabel with the-the demon, or whatever was screaming inside of her. He had to repair this.

Dipper dodged the path of her blade, disregarding the granite cherub that struck his shin and stumbling back onto his feet. Mabel, undeterred, wielded the weapon once more, grazing past the bill of his beloved, but beaten, cap. Fear bloomed in his torso, harder to swallow than before. What would end the battle? His death or hers? If she escaped the cemetery, would she continue to kill?

The grave he had disturbed was mere yards behind him, fast approaching as he retreated from Mabel. Dipper glanced away from it, focusing on the deranged brunette. If she had portrayed any sort of emotion, even utter insanity, he might have been able to approach her. But the uncomprehending blankness mangling her haggard visage was so unlike the girl he knew, so blood-chillingly horrible… He was afraid of Mabel.

"Mabel, I know you're still in there!" Dipper exclaimed hoarsely, even though he was aware the odds of even a splinter of her spirit remaining were nonexistent. "Please, just listen to me! You have to get around it, listen over it!"

No registration. Just a lifeless gaze. Thunder rattled above them, the storm roiling and expanding over the town. Dipper edged back even further, conscious of the six feet deep dive into hell gaping behind him. _This is what you get when you meddle with the rules. You've got nothing left now. As if anyone would accept the fact you reanimated the corpse of your sister. _

Dipper's heel rested upon nothing, his lanky body rocking like a pendulum (_ha ha the pit and the pendulum). _Pain wrenching his lower skull, he toppled backwards into the oblivion, but even this was okay, because nothing comes for free. His vertebrae crackled like popcorn as he struck the edge of her open casket, the polished granite wedged into him like a credit card. If this was death, it was not the ostentatious occasion he had read about, the flowery, ornate prose of brain-dead philosophers amounting to absolute nothingness. It hurt, ow, but no, there was no despondent recollection of a life unfulfilled. Death was merely an inevitable conclusion to a free ride.

Mabel did not return, even as the rain ceased its pattering on his maroon-spattered cheeks. She was probably halfway to home now, shuffling along the debris-strewn streets with her blade still held mechanically before her. _"Gravity and the great will fall, but all shall be lifted; for whatever reason, this blessing you have been gifted. Blood-stained hands can become pure; if you are willing to sacrifice once more."_

The stars flickered, so distant, yet shimmering in brilliant clusters just above his head. Agony, freedom, regret, stone, ha, yeah, it all makes sense now. Dipper smiled and lowered his head, his strength almost entirely sapped. Sleep was in his immediate future, right? Words tumbled out his mouth like bleary marbles, never to be quoted, never to be heard.

_"I couldn't break your heart, Mabel."_

**a/n: **Whoa. Okay. Um, I hate this, a lot, so… yeah, this has kind of been a crappy week so far (report cards, a horrible Halloween, and, oh yeah, getting braces slapped on your teeth). I'm sorry I was so behind on updating, I'll try to return to a regular schedule. Oh, well. Sorry for this mess and I hope you had a safe, happy Halloween, and to my readers here on the East Coast, I pray that you'll stay safe from Sandy.


	18. Chapter 18: Sequins

Story Eighteen:

Sequins

**a/n: **Ugh. This hiatus is killing me. I still love the show, but I'm not as inspired to write fanfiction. Hopefully, this rather short story will inspire me again. This is Reverse!Pines AU and will probably focus more on the Pines and will probably be really short. I just need to get back in the habit of writing for this. Hopefully, I'll be getting more chapters of this and the first chapter of another story out soon. Okay? Enjoy!

The theater is dimmed and cool, even though oppressive June heat surrounds the tent and the night is tangible with humidity. Your vision struggles to adjust to the dramatic change in light; you rely solely on touch to unearth a vacant seat in the teeming rows of anticipant spectators. Finally, popcorn bag clutched in one hand, you settle into the very end of a velvet-cushioned row. Even though the armrest is practically terminating all blood flow below your hip and the man next to you exudes the pungent scent of a lifetime free of deodorant, you could not be more enthusiastic. The show is seconds away from starting.

Everyone in the room, from the locals to the first-time tourists like you, holds their breath and crosses their fingers. Even though you have no knowledge of what you are about to witness, you close your eyes and smile widely. Shivers skitter down your spine; inhalations are shallow, almost a wheeze. The silence is reaching its crescendo, deafening, shrieking in your ears-

Then the piano music begins. You search the areas bordering the stage, but you cannot discern the source. It doesn't matter, though: you are pacified, almost anesthetized, by the mellifluous voice of the instrument. Sweet notes plink delicately, occasionally swelling into measures of eighth-notes that relieves your mind of all of its concerns. You no longer recall debt or death or destruction. The music becomes _you._

The vermillion curtains are abruptly drawn apart, revealing a brilliant flash of cyan luminosity that sears your retinas and shatters the piano spell. You feel strange, almost as if you are sitting in the center of a lucid dream, but this only delights you further. Violins and possibly a xylophone join the piano, creating a single voice joyously serenading the scene. A pair of spotlights dance onstage, refracting off every mote of dust, every sequin, every fragment of diamond. Smoke, artificially colored and vaguely fragrant of bonfires, bursts from unseen spigots in the floorboards. Suddenly, everything falls silent and the circles of radiance focus on your hosts for the evening.

They are twins, twins bestowed with unfathomable gifts, delivered from a magnificent heaven you can only dream of ever entering. The girl is blindingly beautiful, with rivulets of chocolate curls and an immaculate complexion and jewel eyes framed by silky lashes. A headband is nestled in her bangs, bearing a large gem. Her brother is quite an eyeful as well: his visage is handsomely set, from his trimmed eyebrows to his strong jaw line, and his dark hair is slicked back to reveal a constellation-shaped birthmark. A bolo tie is knotted around his neck, an identical gem glinting in the center. They are Dipper and Mabel Gleeful, and they are the most powerful twelve-year-olds to ever live.

Mabel grins dazzlingly at her audience, evoking rabid cheers from the male participants. Of course, her sequined leotard and tights are doing her quite the favor. She lifts her thin arms above her head, palms cupped as if accepting another gift from God. The strings voice the mounting tension. While she sways, still enraptured, Dipper scans the audience and you can't help but blush modestly when his piercing corneas catch your own. "There is someone here tonight," he announces, hand clutching the tie, "that has recently lost a loved one. A sister."

You gawp mindlessly at the young mediums, stiff as your week-dead sister. The still steaming sack of popcorn falls from your hand and scatters across the floor. Dipper smiles down at you, leaving you far too spellbound to perceive the smirk twisting Mabel's plump lips as she closes her fists around nothing. "I-I have!" you scream once your voice returns, waving like a mad man despite the fact the boy has his gaze trained on you. "I lost my sister last week!"

"Her name was April!" Mabel adds, the jewel nestled in her tresses twinkling the shade of cyan recurrent in every aspect of their performance. The audience is whooping, hollering, wallowing in the wonder of telepathy (it isn't called the Tent of Telepathy for nothing). "Her name was April, wasn't it?"

"It _was _April!" You are tearing up, overwhelmed by their ability. The man at your side places a comforting hand on your forearm, steadying you as you rise to your feet. "It was April, it was April! You figured it out!"

"It's our gift," Mabel answers with a wink, and you have to sink back to the bench, face cradled in your salt-crusted fingers. A sob shudders up your chest, almost choking you when it ascends into your unsuspecting throat. But the piano music begins again, diverting your attention from the agonizing memory of April. The melody swings a bit more this time, inspiring the frequenters to climb out of their seats and clap in harmony. The twins link their arms lovingly, absolutely glowing. Tears stream down your cheeks, but you still stand, determined to become a part of this.

"Oh, we can see what others can't see!" Mabel's voice, smooth and almost seductive, resonates across the tent. You wave your arms sporadically, a fanatic yell scraping the walls of your mouth. This is madness and insanity, but it's _so beautiful. _"It ain't some sideshow trick, it's innate ability!"

"Where others are blind, we are future-ly inclined!" Dipper, not quite as competent a singer as his sister, still manages to astonish you with his showmanship. He moves to the music, expression earnest and joyous. "And you would make more of a fuss if you were amazing ol' us!"

They address the audience, pointing to random members and declaring their thoughts in tune to their musical number. Eventually, you just have to squeeze your eyes shut, because it's all too overwhelming: the light display, the song, the smoke. There is a tugging in your chest and it keeps you on your feet the entire show. You never want to leave.

::::::

Eventually though, the presentation has to end. After a blinding finale, the viewers file out, raving and beaming like they have just been given religion. Instead of following the uptight redhead out of the tent, you slip behind the drapes acting as doors leading to backstage. You simply _must _meet these twins.

The dressing area is enormous and littered with enough clothes to open up a modest boutique. Once again, cyan is a definitive theme. Mabel stands at the body-length mirror, brushing out her waist-length locks and humming their song under her breath. Dipper is paging through something on the table, his jacket crumpled at his feet. Before you can brashly interrupt the silence with a squeal of content, he turns to his twin, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. "Remember that tourist?"

Mabel giggles shrilly, replacing her jewel-encrusted headband and studying her reflection intently. "'It was April!'" she mocks, mirroring your voice almost perfectly. A seed of uneasiness plants itself in your chest, but you refuse to give your position away. You have to hear more of this. "'How did you know?' She must have been from way out-of-town."

"Yeah, from Idiots-ville," Dipper condescends, and they laugh uproariously. Cheeks flaming in humiliation, you step backwards, then forwards, miming an eager fan who simply cannot live without acquainting themselves with the siblings. "What the- what are you-?"

"Oh, I'm so sorry, but I simply had to meet you!" you gush, the words tasting gritty in your mouth. You swallow and regard them with a smile more ordinarily found on mental patients. "Do you think you could autograph something for me?"

Mabel approaches you with a silver pen, her grin just as false as yours. "Oh, of course! It's so nice to meet fans!" She doesn't even ask your name; she takes the program from your hand, hastily scrawling her signature across the photograph of her brother. "There you are! I hope you enjoyed the show and will come to visit us again!"

"Thank you!" There is not a single real thing in this room. Before leaving, you pause, as if just remembering it, and turn to Dipper. "By the way, I'm so impressed that you two figured out my sister died. It's been very hard for me and I guess you could sense my grief, huh?"

Another diverting smile from Mabel. You realize that she is the disarming one: all smiles, a gorgeous face, ostentatious outfits. Her brother is darker somehow, the laborer in their plan. She lures them in and he lunges for the kill. "Oh, yes, but it goes deeper than that. We can always tell."

"That's amazing!" You can scarcely tolerate how horrible your voice sounds now. Your eyes skirt past the desk and perceive something that explains everything. Gloating internally, you turn on your heel to step out. "Oh, and thank you for picking up that clipping of my sister's obituary. I didn't even notice it falling out of my bag."

You don't glance back, but you can imagine their horrified expression and you rejoice.

::::::

You hitch the sack of groceries onto your shoulder, a shiver lancing your side as the chill emanated from the frozen lasagna seeps through the plastic. Gravity Falls is surprisingly cold after midnight, even though summer is at its peak and the days are just endless waves of heat. But you don't mind the weather: Maine was even brisker.

The cabin you're renting for the month is only a few blocks away from the supermarket, a quick walk to and back. You didn't mean to do your errands so late, but insomnia has been toying with your sleep schedule the past week and you had to escape the suffocating walls of your bedroom. Thus, groceries.

A full moon glimmers in the starless heavens like a mint coin, even brighter than the streetlamps. You can easily navigate the streets, which is good for your sleep-deprived brain. It really is strange: you had always been able to rest easily until arriving in this town. Oh, sure, aside from that strange show you attended two weeks ago, everything else had been perfectly nominal. It is a peaceful town, with picturesque scenery and kind citizens, the sort of town you have been seeking since April's death. You can breathe here.

The streetlamp you pass under flickers and dims without warning. You would have forgotten the incident if the remaining lights hadn't darkened simultaneously. You shudder and press the sack close to your chest, increasing your pace tenfold. The cabin is on the next street over. Everything will be all right.

The music begins.

You instantly recognize the tune (how can you forget, you hear it in your dreams). Someone has recorded the score to the Gleeful's performance and is playing it over a static-riddled radio. Four dark haloes shimmer in the darkness of an alleyway. Head bowed down, you attempt to pass the alley without making contact with those eyes.

A cyan corona engulfs your groceries, yanking them effortlessly out of your hands and spilling its contents across the pavement. That cursed color ignites the void playing your nightmare music, casting an eerie glow on the Gleeful twins. Mabel smiles at you, her mane meticulously styled and every rhinestone on her skirt sparkling. "April."

You run.

At least, you bound forward before an aura surrounds your body, suspending you above the concrete. A frigid swell of desperation surges through you, motivating you to struggle against the telepathic hand clutching you. You can't even move your toes, but acting out is preventing you from descending into hysterics.

"Reading minds isn't the only thing we can do, friend," Mabel titters. She gestures grandly to Dipper, who is gripping his bolo tie. _The tie. _Or, rather, the gem. He raises his hand, which sends you hurtling toward them; you grind to a halt just short of their feet. You fight tears and nail.

"How long have you been living in this town? A week? Two?" Dipper inquires casually, tapping his foot rhythmically against the cement. You've never been this close to him: his birthmark, a rather unsightly blemish, is a flawless image of the Big Dipper. You don't answer, partially because you're terrified and partially because you can't open your jaws further than an inch.

"You see, we don't like strangers. Not that you're strange or anything, darling, it's just a turn off of ours." She is holding something behind her back, something that opens and closes with an almost imperceptible squeal. "And it seems that you've gotten a bit too close to us. You've seen a few things you probably shouldn't have. That's all right. We all make mistakes. But lying is something we don't enjoy."

"We heard you talking to the waitress at the diner," he declares, terse where his sister is cryptic. You recall yesterday's lunch, discussing the Gleeful twins with an obese, one-eyed waitress, explaining how they discovered your sister's death. Had they been there listening? Had someone working for them been listening? You feel sick and close to the precipice of insanity. "We don't deal well with liars or strangers. Lying strangers are the worse."

"We're just gonna make sure you never lie again," Mabel simpers. Dipper continues to tap his foot maddeningly and you recognize the beat as a pulse. _Lub-dub. Lub-dub. _She tosses the item behind her back into the air; he grabs it with a cyan hand, levitating up to your level. A pair of scissors. Large craft scissors.

A wisp of a scream squeaks past your vocal cords, so pathetic in your own ears. The scissors swing precariously towards you, the blades opening and closing in synchronization with the boy's feet. As the two auras meet and become one, Mabel begins to sing. "Oh, we can see what others can't see…"

Your last word with a tongue is "amulet".

::::::

Dawn breaks a few short hours later. As you lay in an alleyway, slowly bleeding into April, a bus pulls up to a dilapidated tourist trap. A twelve-year-old boy with brilliant white hair stuffed into a baseball cap steps off and gazes up at the Mystery Shack. This is his home for the summer. This is his town for the summer. He'll have to adapt quickly to his new surroundings.

Maybe he'll go and see a show.

**a/n: **I don't even… I don't… what?


End file.
